


Turn Back the Hands

by Palendromicdragonrider



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2020-12-13 22:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 311,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21005276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palendromicdragonrider/pseuds/Palendromicdragonrider
Summary: Claude von Riegan finds a death threat slipped under his door the morning of his first mission with the mysterious new professor at the Garreg Mach monastery. While distracted on the battlefield, a tragic death occurs, but. . . only Claude seems to remember it. And the victim is now alive and well before his eyes. Now Claude is working to unravel the two mysteries at once, all while keeping up the facade that he is a carefree teenager just trying to get through his year at the Officer’s Academy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve posted the first few parts of this story on Tumblr already, but a follower encouraged me to import it over here as well. This is going to be a long one, kids, so I hope you enjoy it!

Claude sat on his bed, carefully going over each elegant letter of the four-word note in his hands. The note that had been slid under his door in the middle of the night. That he had nearly passed over as another discarded page of his own hand. That he only took notice of due to the sharp edges with which it had been carefully folded, more carefully than Claude himself would have ever attempted.

_I’ll fucking kill you._

_It’s just a prank_, Claude wanted to tell himself. Something to rile him up, probably from one of the students in the Black Eagle house. They were certainly more uptight than usual, ever since the Golden Deer won the mock battle last month. Especially Edelgard, who was so certain that the Black Eagles were going to be unbeatable. Claude nearly smirked to himself, thinking of the look on her face when Jeralt announced the Golden Deer as the winners. Her eyes had appeared ready to burst into flames.

Of course, it had little to do with the Golden Deer’s own might. Had Byleth not chosen to lead them, there was no way they would have won the mock battle. They would have put up a fight, sure, but their victory could only be credited to their teacher who guided the battle. Claude shoved the note in his pocket and sighed. He still had no idea why Byleth had chosen to lead their house. The Black Eagles were far more noble, and even the Blue Lions had an unwavering sense of duty and morality that Claude had to admire. The Golden Deer were a mess in comparison to the other two houses. Claude could hardly keep the group in line before Byleth showed up. Especially when Lorenz was present. The thought of him made Claude frown. He could not understand what that guy’s problem was. Sure, Claude was a surprise heir that undermined Lorenz’s position, but that wasn’t Claude’s fault. It didn’t help matters that Lorenz was also a total douchebag.

The bell tolled the hour of the morning, pulling Claude out of his musings. “Shit,” he said to himself. He was late. Claude leapt from his bed and opened his door. Halfway down the hall, he had to turn around and go back. He nearly forgot his bow. “Shit shit shit!” he muttered the whole way out of the dorms.

The morning was bright and the air was crisp with the remnants of spring. Students and monastery staff alike stared at Claude as he rushed past. “You’re la-ate,” a girl said in a sing-songy voice to him. Claude beamed at the girl in a way that he hoped was interpreted as playful.

“Gotta keep ‘em on edge!” he replied with a wink. The girl and her friend giggled at him, but his back was already facing them. Claude wondered absently how the girl recognized him. Maybe she was also in the Golden Deer house. There were easily a hundred students attending the monastery, but Claude often only interacted with the ones in his group for monthly missions: Hilda, Lorenz, Ignatz, Raphael, Lysithea, Leonie, and Marianne. None of whom he knew particularly well. Growing up in another nation put him at a disadvantage in the friends department. Claude sighed, thinking not for the first time that he would have preferred an easier first mission together. The Blue Lions were on weapon inventory, and the Black Eagles were helping a neighboring town with a mild land dispute. It wasn’t that Claude wanted to shirk the work—despite what other people thought of him, Claude considered himself a hard worker when given the right motivation—but he really wanted the time to get to know his classmates. He was never going to succeed as a ruler if he could not even govern seven other students. He shook the thought. He had to hurry. For once, his tardiness actually mattered, but thankfully the monastery was not too big. He ran faster.

“What a surprise,” Lorenz called as he caught sight of Claude. “Leave it to our illustrious future leader to be late on the eve of battle. I nearly expected you to hide in your room while we fought for you.”

“And good morning to you too, Lorenz,” Claude said, his grin more forced than it was before. He stopped in front of the massive wooden gates that led outside of the school’s grounds, panting slightly. Most of his classmates averted their eyes. Save for Lysithea, none of them liked to get involved in the conflict between Lorenz and Claude. Hell, even Claude did not like to get involved in the conflict between Lorenz and Claude. He thought about the note crumpled in his pocket. Maybe it _was_ from Lorenz. . .

“Oh, leave him alone,” Lysithea said, her tone sounding almost bored. “The bell rang no more than five minutes ago. Hilda is not here yet either, not that anyone should be surprised by that.”

“I tried to wake her up this morning,” Marianne squeaked. “But she was sleeping so soundly—“

“It doesn’t matter whether she shows up on time—or even shows up at all!” Lorenz interrupted. “_She_ is not heir to the throne—“

“Technically, Claude is not heir to a throne, either. I think you’ve been hanging out with Ferdinand too often,” Leonie corrected him. Claude tried not to smile. Lorenz hated being corrected, especially by a commoner. The idea that anyone not of noble blood could know anything besides their own name was a shock to Lorenz. The thought sobered Claude’s mood again. Lorenz’s behavior was only another reminder of why he was not fit to lead.

“You know what I mean!” Lorenz huffed. He opened his mouth as if to continue, then clamped it shut again as something caught his eye. The rest of the students looked in the same direction. Byleth approached the group, as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite only being a few years older than them, Byleth held an authority and wisdom that was unmatched by most adults two or three times her age. Even Lorenz appeared bashful in her presence.

“Good morning, class,” she said in a low, even voice.

“Good morning, professor,” the students replied.

“Morning, Teach!” Claude beamed. Lorenz rolled his eyes.

“Where is Hilda?” Byleth asked, not missing a beat.

“Sleeping, probably,” Leonie answered flatly, her arms crossed over her chest. Byleth frowned.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I could have sworn I saw her at breakfast—“

“You did!” A voice beamed from the other side of the gate. Hilda approached the circle. “I had a feeling that you guys would expect me to sleep in. Which honestly, is _so_ unfair. I may not be the most excited soldier ever, but I know how to prioritize. Anyway, so I woke up this morning—“

“Why don’t you tell us on the road?” Byleth asked. “The bandits are not going to subdue themselves, and we have a good day’s journey ahead of us.”

“Of course, professor,” Hilda said with a hop, straightening her back.

“Everyone, get to your horses. I intend to be out that gate in ten minutes. We will review the details of our mission when we take our evening stop.”

The students all hastened to their horses, fastening saddle bags and checking their weapons. Claude lazily approached his own mare. He packed light, so there was little to check. Once his bags and bow were secured to his content, Claude mounted the mare and pat her shaggy neck. A nagging sensation told him he was being watched. Claude looked up, meeting eyes with Byleth. She was already on her mount, dressed in armor rather than her usual teaching uniform. Claude realized he had not seen her dressed as she was since the night he met her. The night she saved his life. The thought of seeing her in a true battle again excited him. Never in his life had he encountered such an expert with a sword. Claude knew he had much to learn from her, on and off the battlefield. Dare he admit it, but he admired her. He only wished he knew what it was that she saw in him as a student.

Byleth prodded her horse gently so it would walk up alongside Claude’s mare. “How are you today?” she asked him.

“As fine as every day, Teach,” Claude replied, putting on the same smile that he had used on the two girls on his way to the gates. Byleth’s expression did not change.

“Are you ready for this mission?” she asked.

“Of course I am! I’m actually rather excited. I hardly got a taste of battle the last time I was out in the field.” _And you barely let me fight at all during the mock battle_, he thought, but did not say.

“Experience can only take you so far, if your mind is on other things,” Byleth replied. Claude frowned, feeling as if the note in his pocket would burn a hole in the fabric. He hated feeling like an open book.

“Teach, I’m offended!” he said, trying to keep his tone playful. “My mind is only on keeping my classmates safe, and making a good impression on you.”

Something about that almost made Byleth smile. Almost. If Claude had not seen her eyes crinkle for an instant, he would have missed it altogether. “You don’t need to worry about impressing me,” Byleth said. She turned the horse away before Claude could reply. “If everyone is ready, let’s move out!”

They stopped to make camp at the base of Zanado just before the sun set. Each of the students set up tents in a circle, boys on one side and girls on the other, with hired battalions and the knights of Seiros surrounding them for protection. Mission or no mission, they were still students. Still kids. It would not go well if Byleth returned to the monastery without everyone intact.

Lorenz complained about having to pitch his own tent. Claude did his best to ignore him. The other two boys in their class were commoners, sons of merchant families, so they were far more used to this kind of travel. Leonie herself had her tent up before everyone else. Claude vaguely remembered her saying that she used to hunt with her father. Despite her low birth, Claude realized she was probably the most-qualified student for the upcoming battle. She was probably the only one who had experience making a kill.

Well, her and Claude. He had to remind himself of that. Claude did not see the man he had killed that first night with Byleth, the bandit who was after him and the other two house leaders, Edelgard and Dimitri. All he remembered was the shadow approaching from the trees, letting an arrow fly, a grunt. . . And the shadow was gone. Claude didn’t even bother retrieving the arrow. He did not want to look death in the face when he had caused it.

“But you got your tent up so quickly, what is the harm in aiding a fellow classmate?” Lorenz demanded from Ignatz. He towered over the merchant’s son, gesturing between Ignatz’s perfectly pitched tent and his own mess of tarp and poles. Ignatz looked up at him with wide eyes, fumbling between words as Lorenz inched closer to his face. Raphael, who out-matched Lorenz’s tall wiry frame with his thick and solid one, stood between the two.

“We all have to do our own work,” he said. Claude found himself surprised—not for the first time—at how mild the giant’s voice was when he spoke. “It’s how we learn to gain some independence as well as cooperate with others. How can you work well with people if you do not appreciate the work that they do?”

“That’s a foolish notion! I appreciate the work of several people in my life without doing the same work they do. I appreciate the servants that made my bed every day back home, the tailor who provided me with such fine-fitting clothes—“

“Lorenz,” Byleth called from the other side of the camp. “You _will_ set up your own tent tonight. If that is too much work for you, I will be more than happy to assign you to the stables or to weeding duty all next week to teach you what work really is.” Lysithea and Hilda both snickered beside her. Even Leonie seemed to suppress a smile.

Lorenz frowned, but he did not argue with her. He stepped away from Raphael and Ignatz, who sighed audibly and adjusted his glasses. Claude resumed setting up his own tent. No sense rubbing it in Lorenz’s face. That could be the difference between Claude receiving aide or a knife in his back the next day. Life was dangerous enough without stirring up unnecessary trouble.

When Claude had his tent set up, he took a step back to admire his work. The poles were a little crooked, sure, but it was sturdy enough. It would keep him warm and dry for the night. That was what mattered. He scanned the rest of the campsite to see how his classmates fared. Lorenz, at last, had his tent up. It looked similar to Claude’s, if not a little more unstable. Raphael and Ignatz chatted lightly on the other side of him, their work done several minutes prior. Leonie tested her bow strings by the trees next to her perfectly-pitched tent. Lysithea was nowhere to be found, but a dim light could be seen from the inside her modest shelter. Claude assumed she had her nose stuck in a book. Beside her tent was Hilda’s. . .if it could be called a tent. One gust of wind would surely bring the teetering structure down. Byleth’s tent stood as tall and proud as she was. At the end of the circle, where the boy’s half touched the girl’s half again, Marianne was pacing in and out of her low, long tent.

Claude sighed. _That girl is a wreck_, he thought. Still, he had to get to know these people better. Marianne was shy and a little skittish, but not unfriendly. She might be an easy starting point. “Hey, Marianne?” Claude called. Marianne jumped. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking for who had said her name.

“Oh! My Lord Claude,” she said with a bow as he approached.

“Just ‘Claude’ is fine, Marianne,” Claude said. “Do you need a hand? You look like you’re in a—erm—in a predicament.”

“I can’t find my sword,” Marianne said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“I thought you were a magic user? Why on Fódlan would you need a sword?” He did not mean to laugh, but he did. Just a little.

“Magic is finite,” Marianne explained. “And if I run out before the fight is over—“ she wrung her hands. Her eyes met Claude’s, two intense pools of blue. “I don’t want to—“

“Okay, class. Gather around,” Byleth called. Marianne jumped. She bowed to Claude again and approached their professor. Claude’s brow furrowed. Marianne seemed. . . Flightier than normal. If such a thing was possible. It would have to be dealt with later. If Byleth called, he would have to follow, as well. Perhaps Marianne did not want Byleth to think she was ignoring her. Claude joined the gathering in the center of camp. “You all should know the general details of our mission by now,” Byleth began again, now that all eight students were within ear shot. “A group of bandits have been attacking the surrounding villages. We discovered that their base is up in Zanado—commonly referred to as the Red Canyon—above us. Our mission is to disband them at all costs.” She paused to look each of her students in the eye. “This is different from a mock battle. There will be no wooden swords, no holding back the swing of your blade, no hitting the space just next to your opponent with a fire blast. I know most of you have not killed before, and I won’t demean you by pretending it won’t change you. But let me remind you that these men are killers, and letting them live would be the same as failing to protect the people of the valley. One life taken tomorrow may save a dozen more in the future. Lives that matter more than those of murderers.”

Byleth’s words made the students squirm, most of them clutching their arms or shifting back and forth on their feet. Claude wondered if, until this moment, many of them had forgotten that Byleth was a mercenary before becoming their teacher. The only reason she remained at the monastery was because the archbishop Rhea had asked it of her. Denying the request of the church’s head was as if to deny the church itself. And that request had only been made the month before. A few weeks of teaching would not wash away the years of ferocity that came from killing for a living. It was that same ferocity that drew Claude to Byleth in the first place. He doubted they would succeed on tomorrow’s mission if Byleth had chosen to pamper them.

“I won’t blame you for being hesitant about tomorrow’s mission, but that does not mean you can hang back during the fight. The knights will be spread too thin and far to do the fighting for you. Let me assure you, though, it is not my intention to throw caution to the wind. I want you all to gain experience, but your lives are more important to me than anything. That is why I assigned battalions to a handful of you, with the intention of grouping the remaining students with those who have guards with them. The strategy for tomorrow is—“

Claude tuned out Byleth’s words. He knew the plan front and back already, having been the one to help her hammer out the details of the mission with Rhea and the knights the days before. He was much more interested now in the reactions from his classmates. Some pairs would work better together than others. As Byleth listed off each pair, Claude took note of the reactions around the circle to see if he needed to recommend any last-minute changes to Byleth for the next day.

Claude himself was to be paired with Raphael. He had been gifted with his own personal mini-army the moment he enrolled in the officer’s academy. His grandfather saw to that personally. Since they had no other current uses, they acted as Claude’s battalion during missions. Raphael hardly needed the protection, as he preferred close-hand combat. Still, he had the least experience out of all of them, and despite his eagerness to be a knight one day, he was a complete softie. Claude figured he would need some proper motivation on the battlefield. Motivation that he could undoubtedly give. Hilda and Ignatz would be under Hilda’s guard, which Claude thought was a grand idea. For all her laziness, Hilda was a tank with an axe in her hands. Ignatz would make a great support from a distance, without having to worry about being in the way of her blade. Lysithea and Lorenz would be paired together, and while they were hardly on friendly terms with each other, they oddly made a good pair. Lorenz would never let a woman be harmed in his presence, as he saw it as part of his “noble duty” to help women at every opportunity. Conversely, as Lysithea could use her magic at a distance, she did not have to put up with his bullshit at close range. And on the off chance she would need to, she could handle him better than the other girls in her class. Lastly, Byleth listed off Leonie and Marianne. Both girls stiffened. _Huh_, Claude thought. That was the last reaction he expected. As far as he knew, Leonie and Marianne got along rather well. They were both driven to do well, though their motivations could not be more different. Claude had seen them talking with each other in the hall just a few days prior! He wondered if something had happened between them.

“If anyone has any questions, bring them to me. We leave at sunrise tomorrow,” Byleth finished. She returned to her tent, and one by one the students dismembered. Leonie looked pointedly at Marianne before stalking off. Marianne practically fled back to her tent in response.

“Hey, hey,” Claude called to her as he tried to catch up.

“I need to find my sword. . .”

“We can deal with that later. What’s going on between you and Leonie?”

Marianne sighed, looking everywhere she could except for directly at Claude. Her hands were wringing together over and over. “We. . .” Marianne whispered. “We got in a little fight the other day.”

“What happened?” Claude asked her. Marianne sighed again. It could have been the setting sun, but it appeared that her eyes were welling up with tears.

“We. . . It was all my fault.” Marianne still would not look Claude in the eye. “I was at the stables looking at the horses. Leonie approached me asking if I would help her with something. I declined—but not because I did not want to be helpful! I just—you know—I mess things up sometimes, and I did not want to create more work for her. . .” Marianne’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “But she thought I was blowing her off. I tried to apologize—“ She covered her face with her hands.

“Leonie is a bit of a hot head,” Claude told her, hoping he was speaking low enough to not be heard by anyone else in the camp. He patted Marianne’s shoulder. “Give her a couple of days and I’m sure it will blow over.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Marianne gasped. “I don’t have a couple of days!” Tears fell down her face. “What if she gets injured—or worse—because I screw something up? I could never be forgiven then.”

“I doubt that will happen,” Claude assured her.

“But you don’t know for sure, do you?” Claude tried to find the right words to comfort her, but they did not come. “I appreciate you looking out for me,” Marianne said. “Truly, I do. But. . . I am not an experienced fighter like you. Or Byleth. Or Le—others in our class. I just don’t want anyone to die tomorrow. I don’t want to, either. Not like this, at least. . . I am afraid, Claude.”

“Don’t be afraid. We will be more than well-guarded by our battalions, and Byleth will keep us out of danger if things get too out of hand.”

“There are never any guarantees, though. That is just fact.” Marianne wiped her eyes and bowed. “If you will excuse me, I need to look for my sword.”

Claude watched her leave, his mouth pressed firmly in a frown. As much as he wanted to be an optimist, she was right. There were no guarantees who would come out on top in the middle of a fight. The odds could be on your side’s favor, but if an arrow had your name on it, you were going to get caught by it. That was something his mother had taught him, years ago. Claude stalked towards Byleth’s tent.

“Hey, Teach!” he beamed. “May I come in?”

Byleth was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping mat, reading what looked like a leather-bound ledger. She closed it with her finger stuck between the pages where she had been reading. “How can I help you, Claude?” she asked. Claude thought he detected concern in her voice.

“I was thinking about the pairs we have set up for tomorrow,” Claude began, leaning lightly against the tent pole. He hoped his tone was casual enough. He did not want Marianne to be put on the spot because of him. “Don’t you think Raphael and Leonie would be a better pair? I know Leonie has some experience with a lance, but truthfully she is so much better with a bow. Besides, who better to motivate Raphael than the class perfectionist?”

“Marianne is also a long-distance unit, though. Like you.”

“She has a sword, doesn’t she?”

“Have you ever actually seen her use it? Or pick it up, for that matter?”

“And here I thought this mission was about giving us some battle experience!”

“Not at the risk of her life, Claude,” Byleth asserted. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Is there something wrong with Raphael? Is there a reason that you don’t want to be paired with him anymore?”

“No, no! Of course not!”

“Then why are you trying to be paired with Marianne?”

“I’m not trying to be paired with Marianne. I just told you, I think Leonie and Raphael—“

“Claude—“

“Not that there is anything wrong with Marianne at all, either—“

“_Claude_—“

“Okay, okay. You caught me. I have a crush on her. I was hoping if I could prove how dashing I am in action—“

“Claude!”

“What?”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Claude replied, lacing his fingers behind his head and giving Byleth his most convincing smile. Byleth sighed. She removed her finger from between the pages of her book and leaned forward.

“You are quite mischievous, but you are shit at deception. You act the most relaxed when you are the most bothered. It’s part of why I chose to lead your house. I don’t like not knowing what is going on around me, a sentiment I’m sure you share.”

Claude gulped. He had always considered himself an expert liar. It kept him out of a lot of trouble growing up. But of course Byleth would be able to see through it. She had yet to fail to impress him. He sighed, lowering his hands.

“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on now?”

“Not all of it,” Claude admitted. “Just that I think it is important for me to be by Marianne’s side tomorrow. The rest of it is her business.”

Byleth nodded, seeming to accept his answer. “Consider it done. I will tell Leonie and Raphael of the changes if you want to tell Marianne.”

“Thank you, Teach!” Claude beamed, leaping forward. “I will go tell her now.”

“One more thing,” Byleth called, stopping him at the doorway. “I may not know all of the details, but I can tell that you are acting out of your position as a leader. Looking after your people is more important than having power and giving orders ever will be. I’m proud of you.”

Claude smiled, though he felt embarrassed for how happy her words made him. “Even a scoundrel gets it right sometimes,” he said. He ducked out of the tent and rushed back to where he last saw Marianne heading. The only taint in his victory was the death threat still crumbled in his pocket.

“Get back!” Claude called, pulling Marianne out of the way of an arrow. “It came from the left.” Marianne straightened, facing the cliffs where Claude had indicated. She uttered an incantation, and with a wave of her hand, a bolt of light crashed down on the entire area. _There is no way anyone could have survived that,_ Claude thought. “Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand.

They had been separated from the rest of the group, including their battalions. The canyon trail leading to the thieves’ hideout split into two, so Byleth split the group in half to go around each side and corner the enemy. But the thieves were fast, faster than Claude anticipated. In minutes, they had corralled Claude and Marianne away from everyone else. If it hadn’t been for Marianne’s healing abilities, Claude was sure he would not be able to walk anymore.

“It’s too quiet. . .” Marianna whispered, eyes flicking from crevice to crevice in the cliffside.

Claude squeezed Marianne’s hand. “It will be okay,” he said. “I can hear shouting around this curve in the road. Our friends are just up ahead, I’m sure of it.”

Marianne nodded, clutching her free hand to her chest.

A few steps further brought the pair to an opening in the path. As Claude suspected, his classmates were on the other side of the clearing, taking out the remaining bandits at the base of their hideout. “See?” he said to Marianne, letting go of her hand to point ahead. “We’ve nearly caught up to them. Let’s go!” Claude quickened his pace, eager to be in the safety provided by large numbers. Marianne was right on his heels. Claude could see Byleth at the back of the group, watching over her students and barking orders to their guards. “Teach!” Claude called. Byleth turned around. It may have been the distance, but Claude could have sworn relief washed over her face.

“Hurry!” she called. Claude smiled, running faster.

“Claude—“ Marianne panted. She was further behind him now. “I can’t keep—“

“Rawwwrrrgh!” A voice boomed. Claude was barely turning on his heels when he heard it. The sound of metal penetrating flesh rang in his ears. He met Marianne’s eyes just as they went blank. She crumbled to the ground, a large man standing between her and Claude, and his sword dripping wet with Marianne’s blood.

“No!” Claude cried, letting an arrow fly. He caught the man between the eyes, and his body fell. Claude rushed to Marianne’s side. “No, no, no,” he whispered, cupping her head. She did not respond. Her body was limp, lifeless. “You can’t die on me.”

Claude had failed her. He told Marianne that she would not have to worry if she was with him. He was so convinced that as her house leader, he could protect her. But he was wrong. Claude’s tears spilled onto her pale face. She was dead. And it was all Claude’s fault. He failed as a leader.

He failed as a protector.

How could anyone trust him now?

How could anyone follow him now?

Marianne.

Marianne. . .

Mari—

A

N

N

E

E

N

N

A

—iraM.

?won mih wollof enoyna dluoc woH

?won mihtsurtenoynadluocwoH.rotcetorpasadeliafeH.redaelasadeliafeH.tluafs’edualc—

Claude squeezedMarianne’s hand. “It will be okay,” he said. “I can hear shouting around this curve in the road. Our friends are just up ahead, I’m sure of it.”

Marianne nodded, clutching her free hand to her chest.

A few steps further brought the pair to an opening in the path. As Claude suspected, his classmates were on the other side of the clearing, taking out the remaining bandits at the base of their hideout “See?” he said to Marianne, letting go of her hand to point ahead. “We have nearly caught up to them. Let’s go!” Claude quickened his pace, eager to be in the safety provided by large numbers. Marianne was right on his heels. Byleth was at the back, watching over her students and barking orders to their guards. “Teach!” Claude called. Byleth turned around. It may have been the distance, but Claude could have sworn her face was one of rage and ferocity.

“Stay there!” she shouted, charging forward with her blade drawn. Claude halted, and Marianne ran into his back.

“Oof!” she grunted. Claude hardly noticed. Why would Teach want them to—

“Rawwwrrrgh!” A voice boomed. Claude instinctually raised his bow, letting an arrow fly. . .

Right between the eyes of a bandit. The large man fell to his knees, dropping his sword just inches from Claude’s chest.

Claude stared blankly at the man. Had he taken one more step. . . Or worse, had he ran ahead, leaving Marianne a few steps behind him— His knees buckled, and Marianne had to catch him to keep him from falling.

“Are you two okay?” Byleth asked. Claude felt Marianne nod against his back, and he numbly mimicked the motion. Byleth watched him scrutinizingly. “There should be no more surprises,” she said. “We have the rest of the bandits apprehended. It looks like keeping everyone in pairs was a good move, because there are no casualties on our side.”

“No casualties. . .” Claude repeated. Why did that not seem right to him? He felt Marianne still pressed up against his back, shaking slightly. Or was it his own body shaking?

“Yes, no casualties,” Byleth said. She extended her hand to Claude. “Can you stand? I would rather have everyone in a group in case there are any other enemies in hiding.”

Claude looked up at her. Byleth’s eyes were unreadable. Blank, motionless pools. They made the perfect mirror. Inside them, Claude saw his own fear and confusion. He was alive. Marianne was alive.

Marianne was alive?

_Pull yourself together._

Claude straightened up, smiling weakly. “You got it, Teach. I wouldn’t want to miss the cheers of victory, now would I? Come on, Marianne, let’s join the others.” He looped Marianne’s arm through his and led her to the rest of their classmates. Byleth followed silently.

_That was a close one_, Claude thought. He refused to give Byleth a reason to doubt choosing him. To doubt choosing the Golden Deer. He would not let her down.

But. . .

Why did he feel like he already had?

The group of classmates were all chattering excitedly when Claude and Marianne approached. Claude heard bits and pieces: most of them had made their first kills today. Some were excited. Others. . . Tried to be. But Claude could tell many of them would see blank faces in their dreams that night. Leonie was the first to notice their presence. Her eyes widened at the sight of them.

“Marianne!” she called, rushing forward to meet them just before they entered the circle of students. “Your arm is bleeding! I think I have a vulnerary in my bag.”

“I’m fine,” Marianne whispered. Leonie’s brow furrowed. She tugged on Marianne’s good arm.

“Of course you are not fine! Look at you, you’re shaking! I cannot let a friend of mine remain in this condition.”

“Friend?” Marianne asked. Leonie stopped tugging on her.

“Of course.”

“I just—I thought that—after the other day—“ Marianne’s eyes welled up with tears.

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Leonie said. “I was being hasty and stupid when I said—Come on, let’s get this wound looked at. We can talk once you’re healed. . .” Leonie wrapped her arm around Marianne, who nodded and allowed Leonie to lead her away. Claude smiled as he watched them leave. Who knew a dangerous battle could cause them to make up?

“I am assuming they got in a fight before the mission. Was that why you wanted to switch partners?” Byleth asked. Claude nearly jumped. He did not realize she was standing just on the other side of him.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I did not want them to have their minds in two different places on the battlefield. A split mind is dangerous.”

“Yes. It is,” Byleth replied, a hint of accusation in her tone.

“You saved her life, by the way. Had you not called out for me to wait, I—“

“What’s done is done,” Byleth said, cutting him off. “The bandit is dead and neither of you got hurt.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Claude sighed. “But still, your leadership was amazing, Teach. We can probably leave the rest of the work here to the knights and head back to the monastery.”

“I agree. Go celebrate with your peers. I am going to speak with the knights to make sure they do not need any more help from us before we leave. We can hopefully make it back to the monastery by nightfall.”

Claude nodded. “You got it, Teach.” He winked at her then caught up to his classmates.

“Claude!” Raphael boomed, picking Claude up and squeezing him. “I feel so pumped right now! Like I could lift a mountain! I can’t believe our first mission was so successful!”

“Of course it was successful,” Claude laughed, nearly out of breath. Raphael put him down and clapped him on the back. “With someone like Teach leading us, how could we go wrong?”

“At least you admit that you were not the cause for our success,” Lorenz muttered. His hair was messed up, and he was frantically trying to pat it down smooth again.

“I take credit where credit is due. No more, no less,” Claude replied. He was suddenly thinking of the death threat in his pocket again.

“I thought you did magnificent, Claude!” Hilda beamed. She swung her axe over her shoulder. It was a wonder she had not accidentally cut off one of her two long ponytails by now. “Ignatz and I saw you take down a guy at least three hundred yards away with only one shot!”

“I admit, I was a little jealous,” Ignatz added. He was sitting on a rock, hands clasped together. No doubt to keep them from shaking.

“I would not be here if it wasn’t for Claude,” a faint voice said behind him. Leonie and Marianne were returning to the circle. “He had my back the entire battle, even though I was no use to him. . . That final bandit surely would have killed us if Claude had not been so quick with the bow.”

Claude forced a swallow. His classmates were all looking at him with awe and admiration. Even Lorenz had the grace to look impressed. But. . . Claude did not feel like he deserved it. Even though he was looking her in the eye, alive and well, he had the feeling like he had somehow failed Marianne.

“Yeah, but I would have been dead several times over if I did not have you healing my wounds when we got separated from the rest of class,” Claude said with a grin. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“See? You were not useless at all, Marianne,” Leonie piped up.

Claude smiled. His classmates continued chattering excitedly, patting each other on the back and praising each other’s victories. Claude sat back and watched. He wanted to bond with them, but not when he felt this way. There would be other days to celebrate victory. He sighed, looking around at the surrounding soldiers who were securing the area. They were seasoned warriors, used to far more than the Golden Deer could fathom at the moment. They were not celebrating. Everything was business as usual.

Claude squinted, wondering where Byleth had gone. She said she wanted to speak with the knights, but he could not spot her among them. And the woman certainly stood out, even in the midst of men twice her size. Frowning, Claude scanned the canyon for her. He spotted her standing alone, by the edge of a cliff. She seemed to be looking at something, though Claude could not tell what. Curious, he approached her.

“I remember this being a peaceful place. . .” Byleth murmured, so soft that Claude did not think she meant to say it aloud. Claude stopped right behind her. She did not acknowledge him. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, as her eyes were glazed over.

“Teach?” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder. Byleth jumped, causing him to recoil. Byleth was usually not the skittish type. Far from it. “What are you doing over here? I thought you were going to get the clear to leave from the knights?”

“I was—I did. They do not need anything else from us today.”

Claude waited to see if she would offer more, but she did not. “We should get back to the academy, then,” Claude said. “So we don’t get caught in the middle of nowhere when it’s dark.”

“Of course,” Byleth replied, her eyes sharper than a sword once again. “I will tell the other students.” Byleth pushed past him and stalked away. Claude frowned. Something was clearly bothering her about this place, though he did not know what. As far as he knew, the Red Canyon had been abandoned for centuries. Well, abandoned save for the bandits. When would she even have had a chance to be there before?

“Claude!” Hilda called. “We’re heading back! Let’s go!”

“Coming!” Claude called, running to catch up to her. He wondered what sort of knowledge Byleth had that Claude did not. He had researched every notable square inch of Fódlan before entering the continent to enroll in the Academy, and nothing seemed particularly of note about this place save for some boring lore about the goddess living here. Come to think of it, why was Zanado not occupied by the church? Should it not have been sanctioned as holy ground?

Claude caught sight of Marianne as he got closer to the group, and guilt overcame him once again. He could not explain it, but he could have sworn his arrow was too late, that he saw her dead in his arms. But there she was, practically unscathed, being praised for her bravery by her classmates. Perhaps it was something about the Red Canyon that affected him this way. Maybe Byleth could feel it too? At the very least, she knew something that Claude did not. And Claude wanted answers. Byleth might not swoon at his charms the way that other girls did, but that was not his only method for getting information. It was always possible that she would be more open to talking once they left the Red Canyon, as well. . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude tries to butter up Byleth so he can learn what she knows about the Red Canyon, and accidentally learns something he did not expect to.

“Aaand I think that’s everything,” Claude said, patting his mare on the back as he closed the door to her stable.

“I think you are right,” Byleth said. “It seems your classmates have all made it back to their dorms already.”

“They are probably exhausted from the day’s events. I wouldn’t blame them for wanting to rush to bed.”

“And you? Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m in no rush to get back to my dorm,” Claude admitted. Now that he was back, he would not be able to hide from the death threat that was slipped under his door. Hopefully he could gain some ground on finding the person who was after him before their next mission. “Where are you off to next, Teach? May I escort you?”

“I have to speak with Lady Rhea about how the mission went,” Byleth answered.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier? You should have gone to see her as soon as we arrived.”

“I could hardly leave my students alone until I knew they had completed all of their duties, now could I?”

Claude looked around dramatically, making the point that he was the only student present. “If I didn’t know better, Teach, I would almost say you just tried to make a joke.”

Byleth did that thing again. For the briefest moment, her eyes crinkled, as if she was going to smile. But she didn’t. “Good thing you know better, then. Are you going to escort me or not?” Byleth turned towards the church building, leaving Claude scrambling to catch up.

“Good old Teach, as stony-faced as usual.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hmm,” Claude mused, pondering how far he wanted to take this. He had not quite meant to say what he did out loud, but perhaps getting her to open up a little about her emotions—or lack thereof—would also help loosen her tongue. “I can never tell what’s going on in your head. Whether you’re feeling resigned or if you’re just lost in thought. Or maybe you simply don’t care about anything that’s going on around you.” Byleth looked up and frowned at him.

“You think I don’t care about anything?” she asked.

“Oh. . . Sorry. That came off a little more rude than I meant it to.” It was actually _exactly_ as rude as he meant it to be. The easiest way to pull emotion out of someone was to shake the ground beneath their feet a bit. “I guess I’m just trying to say that I find you fascinating. Like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out.”

“If you find me fascinating, you have a bit of a funny way of saying it,” Byleth said, the slight frown still on her face.

“Maybe I’m not coming off clearly,” Claude sighed. He pretended to scramble for the right words to say. Byleth leaned in closer. “Let me start over. Before you came here, you were a mercenary, right? Always getting your hands dirty on the battlefield and what not?”

“Obviously,” Byleth replied cautiously. “That’s how you and I met.”

“Exactly! It’s a bit unusual that you suddenly decided to become a teacher one day. How does one go from being the cold-hearted mercenary referred to as the Ashen Demon to teaching a bunch of teenagers at a monastery?”

“I actually didn’t make the decision, if that answers your question. Had my father not been recognized by Alois, he and I would still happily be taking jobs as mercenaries together.”

This was all known to Claude already, but he was grateful to get her talking. Perhaps getting her comfortable enough to discuss the Red Canyon would not be so difficult after all. But he would not reach that topic yet. Not until she had opened up a little more. “Did your father teach you how to fight?” he asked.

“Yes, he did,” Byleth said, a hint of pride in her voice.

“I figured. Your father used to lead the Knights, didn’t he? And I hear he was a legendary mercenary as well.” His next words would be a bit of a stretch, but what was life without risks? “It must have been hard on your mother when you followed in your father’s footsteps and became a mercenary, too.”

“I never knew my mother,” Byleth admitted.

“I see,” Claude said. That was actually something he did not know. It was not uncommon for the knights of Seiros to have wives and families that lived back in their home villages rather than relocating to the monastery. Until that moment, Claude had assumed that Jeralt was in a similar position. He recollected himself quickly. “I’m guessing you grew up moving from battlefield to battlefield with your father, then?”

“That sounds about right.”

Claude smirked at her. Though it meant his work would be more difficult than anticipated, he was amused by the fact that Byleth’s expression did not change the entire time that they spoke. Still, he persevered. “You know, for someone who’s right about the same age as me, you certainly have an unusual amount of composure.” Claude looked up towards the church. He noticed then that Byleth was walking slower than usual. Normally he would blame her height, but that never seemed to stop her before. “Though maybe I’ve just been in the wrong company as of late. I guess it’s only natural that you’d be different from most of the students here. So many of them are young nobles who grew up in the lap of luxury.”

“I hardly see what nobility has to do with it. I am this way because I had to be this way under pressure. Such is the life of a mercenary.” Byleth looked up at Claude, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “If we are going to point fingers, you don’t seem like a noble, either,” she said.

Claude laughed, though he did not expect to. “Well,” he sighed. “Even so, I _am_ a noble.” _Heir to House Riegan, the ‘leading family of the Alliance,’ among other titles_, he thought with little amusement. “But I didn’t exactly grow up in luxury like most people of noble blood.” He ran a hand through his hair. The conversation was going in a direction he did not want it to go. “Maybe that’s why you and I get along so well.” Claude nudged Byleth playfully. “Folks like us should stick together.”

“Luckily for me, that won’t be too difficult to do. I am professor of the Golden Deer house, after all.”

They were close to the stairs now. As Lady Rhea was hardly likely to be okay with a student wandering around this late at night, Claude figured this was his last chance to have Byleth’s attention. “Yes,” he began, “and as house leader, I’ll do all that I can to help you out.” Claude bowed deeply and fluttered his cape, giving Byleth a wink.

“I would greatly appreciate that, Claude Von Riegan,” Byleth said. Instead of walking upward, she stopped just by the steps. _Perfect_! Claude thought. “Though I do hope you mean that beyond just escorting me from one well-guarded area to another.”

“Oh, certainly!” Claude beamed. “We can start by making time for more little chats like this. Getting to know each other better. Then if there was anything you ever needed to know from me, you would not need to go out of your way to ask.”

Byleth huffed, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one hip to the other. Gods, Claude thought. Byleth had a gaze that could burn through a man’s skull. “You are very funny, Claude,” she said. “You are witty and charming, and that is not the sort of thing I would say to just anyone.”

“Why, thank you,” Claude said calmly, though his tone made him nervous.

“But why do I get the impression that you want something from me?”

Claude gulped. Even when he thought he was ahead, it turned out that Byleth was two steps further. “I—“

“You aren’t hitting on me, are you? Because despite how young I am, as your teacher—“

“No! _No_. Nothing like that,” Claude assured her. He found himself more than a little offended. Sure, Claude could be flirtatious, but it was always light-hearted, and in no way exclusive to just Byleth. To think Claude was actually making a move on her would mean she ultimately lumped him with the likes of Sylvain, the notorious playboy from the Blue Lion house, and _that_ guy—

“What is it then?” Byleth demanded, her tone more harsh than before.

Claude groaned. This really was not his day. He recalled what Byleth had told him on the mission, about how she could tell if he was lying. Defeated, he replied, “On the way back, you seemed transfixed by that canyon.” That must not have been what Byleth expected, as her stance softened. “Did something. . . Happen there? What do you know about it?”

“It’s nothing,” Byleth said. She averted her eyes away from Claude.

Claude found himself stiffening. “Nice try, but you can’t get anything past me.” He tried to keep his tone light. If she’s going to call me on my bluff, then I will give her the same treatment. “You saw something. . . Or felt something. I’m sure of it.” Byleth took a slight step away from him. Maybe he was coming on too strongly. Claude reminded himself that it was often better to play the long game, and be patient, than to lose his prey altogether. He smiled gently at Byleth. “But hey. If you don’t want to share, that’s fine by me. Everyone has their secrets. Although, I’ll admit, there is something about that canyon that had me captivated, as well. I was hoping you could give me some insight.”

“I can’t,” Byleth said. “And that’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

“I believe you,” Claude said, hoping to hide the disappointment in his tone. ?

“What was it you thought I would know?”

Claude arched an eyebrow a her. “Well, I overheard you saying you remembered Zanado being a peaceful place. It got me wondering how Zanado came to be called the Red Canyon. I mean, nothing there was actually red. . .”

“Unless the red was blood. . .” Byleth finished.

Claude looked at her pointedly. So she _did_ know something. Whether she knew it or not. Byleth grew more and more intriguing by the second. “How would you know that, though?”

Byleth shook her head and shrugged, as if she realized what she had said. “Must have read it in a book somewhere. My father always had a bunch of old books laying around.” She squared her shoulders. “It’s getting late,” she said. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you at class tomorrow.”

“Right. . . Goodnight, Teach.”

“Goodnight, Claude.”

Claude walked back towards the dorms as Byleth headed up the stairs to see Rhea. But Claude was not going to give up that easily. There was something he wasn’t being told, and that little obsessive part of his mind that wanted to know everything going on around him would not relent until he knew what it was. There was something. . .significant about the Red Canyon. He felt it, ever since. . .

_Marianne_. . .

He followed Byleth up the stairs.

It was a wonder that he did not run into any school staff on his way up, but considering the time of day, he assumed that everyone was in their quarters. Nonetheless, Claude was careful to step lightly and listen for any footsteps coming down the stairs. When he reached the second floor, the door was already closing behind Byleth. _Dammit_, Claude thought. He approached the archbishop’s audience chamber. This was not his first attempt to eavesdrop. Far from it. In his favor, the room beyond the door was ceiling to floor made of stone. Rooms with carpets and drapery tended to absorb more sound. Claude pressed himself against the door near its hinge, both for the slight opening between the door and the wall, as well as the little shadowed corner that he could hide in should anyone walk by.

“—So, you have safely disposed of the bandits,” Claude could hear the archbishop Rhea say. “I pray that their souls find salvation.”

_Blah, blah, blah_, Claude thought impatiently.

“But why did they target the students to begin with? We must further investigate the true cause of all that took place. Until we know more, I ask that you—“

Target the students? Claude repeated his head.

He thought of earlier that day. The man who had leapt out of nowhere, his sword drawn, Claude barely lifting his bow in time, the dead face staring up at him. . .

He recognized that face.

It did not occur to him in the moment he had killed him, but Claude had seen the man before. The night that he, Edelgard, and Dimitri were out camping. The night that they were attacked. The night that Byleth saved them.

The two sets of bandits were one and the same, he realized. The idea caused his body to quiver slightly. Why would he be tasked with eliminating them without being told who they were, how they were significant to him personally? For a reason he could not explain, he felt betrayed. Claude clenched his fists. His emotions would have to be dealt with later. He wanted to hear the rest of this conversation between Byleth and Rhea.

“And just what are you doing?!” A voice demanded. Claude jumped. A turn of his head brought him face-to-face with Seteth, Rhea’s advisor. His face was set in a deeper scowl than usual as he looked down at Claude.

“Ah, Seteth!” Claude beamed. “I was just looking for Teach. She ran ahead to speak to Rhea while I finished putting away our equipment from the mission. I told her I would report to her when the job was done.”

“Is that why you had your ear pressed against the archbishop’s door?” Seteth questioned.

“I could hardly burst in on them if they were having an important meeting, now could I? I was waiting for the conversation to turn into casual pleasantries.” Claude put on his most innocent smile. “Why, is there something I’m not supposed to hear?”

Seteth groaned, pressing his pointer finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. “As if I would tell you if there were,” he replied. “You may be heir to the leading house of the Leicester Alliance, but as long as you are in this monastery, you are a student like everyone else. If you could at least try to respect the privacy of the faculty and the religious leaders here, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“But of course! I shall conduct myself more appropriately in the future!” Claude exclaimed.

Seteth scoffed. “Now, step aside. Isn’t it past your curfew anyway? I will pass along your message to Professor Byleth, if you like.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Seteth!”

Claude side-stepped past Seteth and made a bee-line for the stairway. He was fortunate that the man was not as perceptive as Byleth. Or. . . At the very least, that Seteth was likely to call Claude out on his bullshit. No doubt Claude would get an earful from Byleth the next day, but that was far down on the list of his worries. Byleth knew that the bandits they were after were the same ones that had tried to kill him, and she did not tell him. What if they were connected to the note in his room? What if someone in the monastery was behind the first attack, and wanted another shot at getting Claude killed while off the church grounds? Even if that were not the case, Claude had the right to know who he was facing. _Know your enemies_, he thought bitterly. He was reviled as a schemer, but his schemes had their uses.

The gears in Claude’s head were turning. . .

“Hragh!” Claude grunted, swinging his training axe down. Hilda blocked his blow, though not without effort. She stumbled backward a couple of steps to avoid falling completely.

“Hey!” Hilda protested. “I thought you were going to go easy on me when we practiced today.”

“Sorry,” Claude said, pulling back his axe. “I got a little carried away.”

“Well let’s try getting a little _less_ carried away,” Hilda retorted. “The professor said we were not supposed to spar today, just focus on our form. And I will not be putting in anymore effort than is necessary! Our mission yesterday really took the energy out of me.”

Claude frowned at the mention of Byleth. She had avoided talking to him all morning, but the way she watched him during her lecture earlier that morning, he knew she had spoken to Seteth. Claude would be lucky to get away with working in the stables for the next week. It was more likely he would be shoveling shit the entirety of the upcoming month.

“Claude? Are you listening to me?”

“Huh? What?” Claude asked. Hilda groaned.

“I said, ‘let’s get this over with.’ Swing your axe!”

Claude rolled his shoulders and lifted his axe. “ Ready when you are.”

“I think,” Hilda panted, “that’s enough for today.”

“I agree,” Claude huffed. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the front end of his shirt. Sylvain whistled at him from the other end of the training grounds.

“Looking good, your highness! Why don’t you lift that up a little higher?” Sylvain’s friend Felix, who was standing right beside him, punched him in the arm.

“Be mature,” Felix said.

“I’m just checking out the competition,” Sylvain said. He blew a kiss at Claude, who pretended to catch it then winked at him. Gods, how Claude hated that guy. But he had to give him some credit: part of Claude’s laid-back and flirtatious persona was adapted from men like Sylvain that Claude knew back home. It was easiest to get things done in private when nobody took you seriously in public.

Sylvain laughed at Claude’s reaction while Felix looked unimpressed. The sound of the door leading back to the monastery grounds opening drew Claude’s attention away. Edelgard entered, sending a wave of silence through the courtyard. There was something about her presence that was captivating. And it wasn’t just the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous. There were plenty of other pretty girls walking around the monastery. Claude decided it must be the way she carried herself that demanded a certain level of respect, whether or not you were not under her rule. Even Dimitri, the leader of the the Blue Lions and prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faergus, seem to defer to her whim, though he would never openly admit it. At least in that case, Claude was sure that Dimitri had more than a little crush on Edelgard. He could practically hear the royal wedding bells ringing whenever they were around each other.

But Edelgard’s powerful presence was not the reason Claude was watching her now. He had actually been hoping to run into her that day. Her. . . Or Dimitri, technically, as well. But between the two, Edelgard was by far the more shrewd. Despite his skill with a lance, Dimitri was still naive in many ways.

“Hey, Eddie!” Claude called as he approached the white-haired princess. Edelgard rolled her eyes.

“Claude,” she started. “I believe I have asked you before not to call me that. How can I help you? Need help pulling a prank? I’m afraid that I wouldn’t be the right girl for the job.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Claude assured her. He put is arm around her shoulders and led her farther away from the center of the training grounds. “I was actually hoping that we could talk about the night we got attacked by the bandits,” he whispered.

Edelgard blinked, her eyes widening. “You mean right before school started, the night we were saved by Professor Byleth?”

“Is there any other night that I could be talking about?”

“I suppose not,” Edelgard admitted. “What about it?”

“Do you ever wonder why they were after us?”

“Oh, you mean three wealthy teenagers wandering around without guards in the middle of the woods?” Edelgard laughed. “They wanted our money, Claude. I would think that would be obvious to a guy like you.”

“I think the insults are a little unnecessary right now,” Claude said with a frown.

Edelgard’s brow furrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you getting at?”

“Do you think it’s possible that someone. . . I don’t know. Informed the bandits that the three future leaders of Fódlan’s nations were all going to be out of the protection of the monastery for one night? That maybe someone was behind their attack ‘cause they wanted us—“

“Dead?”

“Exactly.”

Edelgard looked around the courtyard. It was doubtful anyone could hear them, but more than one pair of eyes were watching them. It was no secret that their personalities tended to clash more often than not. Edelgard leaned in closer. “You mean like an assassination?”

“Yes.”

“Have you talked to Dimitri about this?”

“No,” Claude said. “I haven’t seen him yet today.”

“Good. Then don’t talk to him about it.”

“Why not?!” Doesn’t he deserve the right to know?”

“I don’t think we should incite a panic,” Edelgard hissed.

“Give the guy some credit.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if-“

“If what?

Edelgard’s eyes flicked behind Claude, ever so briefly.

“A bunch of us are going to the town tonight. There’s supposed to be dancing, drinking, mingling. . . You should join us.”

“It’s against the school’s rules to be beyond the gate past curfew.”

Edelgard laughed aloud, as if trying to draw attention. Claude figured it was her way of saying she wanted to wrap up the conversation they were having. “You are too funny, Claude. It’ll be fun. You can get the chance to know some of your classmates better—and some of the students from other houses, as well. I heard Sylvain and Felix mention they were going to be there, for example.”

Ah, that’s what she was getting at. So now Claude had to be all buddy-buddy with Dimitri’s childhood friends? Great. Just wonderful. “I’ll see what I can manage,” Claude said.

“Good.” Edelgard patted Claude on the shoulder. “Now, if you will excuse me. I have some training to do.” She sauntered away towards the rack of training weapons as Claude watched her. The other students pretended as if they had been sparring the entire time, but most of them kept glancing between Claude and Edelgard nervously. Everyone, that is, except Hilda, who openly gawked. Claude avoided her gaze as he headed towards the door. Before he made it out to the monastery grounds, Hilda was right beside him, looping her arm through his.

“Cla-aude,” she sang, “you’ve even keeping secrets.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, darling,” Claude replied sarcastically. Hilda only giggled.

“Puh-lease! I saw you flirting with Edelgard. Saying good-for-nothings in hushed tones while looking into each other’s eyes? I didn’t know you were the ‘fraternizing with the enemy’ type.” She elbowed him playfully in the ribs at the word “fraternizing.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Claude argued. “She just invited me out to the town tonight to go dancing.”

“And will that be with or without her tongue down your throat?”

“How can I manage that when I have another girl go with me?”

Hilda’s eyes widened. “Who?!” she demanded.

“You,” Claude said. Hilda stopped walking.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? I’ve known you longer than anyone else here, anyway. I would love to have you go as my date.”

“Oh, so it’s _me_ you want to make out with now?”

“Trust me, I am not trying to make out with anyone tonight. You’re more like a buffer.”

“Good. Because as cute as you are, you’re not exactly my type.”

“You mean because I won’t do your chores for you in hopes of you giving me a smile, or a bat of your eyelashes?”

“Hey, now!”

“Look, do you want to come with or not? Don’t worry about my reasons, just come and have fun. I promise I’m a great dancer.”

Hilda crossed her arms and hummed, as if she were pondering his offer.

“Fine,” she said. “But if we get caught, I’m telling Professor Byleth that it was all your idea.”

“I have no objections.” Claude kissed Hilda’s hand. “Meet me in my room at ten?”

“Sounds like a plan!” Hilda replied. She skipped back towards the dorms muttering about what to wear, and Claude stalked towards the classrooms. He hoped Dimitri would be there. No matter what Edelgard said, he had the right to know if someone was trying to kill them. Though he had to admit, he was curious about what she meant by asking Felix and Sylvain about him. As his childhood friends, they were bound to have dirt on him, if any existed. But Dimitri just seemed so pure. The poor guy couldn’t have possibly done anything worse in his life than kill a fly.

Claude groaned inwardly. There were too many secrets going around. He had hoped moving to Fódlan a year ago would simplify his life, not make it more complicated. Much luck of that happening any time soon. Claude reached the Blue Lion’s classroom, and the door was wide open. He peered in. No lectures were going on, and only a few students remained at the desks talking with each other. None of them were Dimitri.

Claude’s stomach growled, reminding him that it was well past midday. He realized that Dimitri could be in the mess hall, too. Claude rushed in that direction, but to his dismay, Dimitri was not there either.

_Shit_, Claude thought. He did not know off the top of his head where else to look for him. And while the monastery was not too big going in a straight line, it had a significant number of nooks and crannies where a person could hide. Still, while he was there, Claude figured he should eat. There was always the chance that Dimitri would still show up.

Students stared up at him as he walked past to grab a plate. After the first few weeks of such behavior, Claude was more or less used to it. After all, he was the House Leader for the Golden Deer and the future leader of the Alliance. The fact that no one knew where he had been before his grandfather legitimized him as an heir seemed to only make students more intrigued by him. Claude had heard the circling gossip speculating on where he came from many a time. Some guesses were wilder than others. None of them accurate.

“Claude!” A voice called. From across the hall, Lysithea was waving frantically to catch his attention. “Come and eat with us.” Claude noticed Leonie sitting across from her at the long table. He smiled and waved back in agreement. Once he had his food, he sat down beside her. Leonie seemed particularly interested in her lunch.

“How was training today? Did you and Hilda get a good workout in?” Lysithea asked.

“I did the best that I could, considering Teach wanted me to use an axe instead of a bow today,” Claude said. Probably the first of my punishments for eavesdropping on her conversation with Rhea yesterday. “As for Hilda. . .”

“Say no more,” Lysithea groaned. “Unless it is makeup or jewelry, I have never seen that girl put effort into anything.” Claude thought he could have been making it up, but it sounded like there was a hint of jealousy in Lysithea’s tone.

“Yeah, trying isn’t her strong suit. If I remember correctly, I think she has an older brother that spoils her rotten or something.”

“Hmm,” Leonie grunted.

“Are you still in a foul mood?” Lysithea groaned.

“Why? What happened?” Claude asked.

“It’s nothing. . .” Leonie muttered.

“One of the guys in her archery class mistook her for a boy today,” Lysithea said in a fake whisper. Claude looked over at Leonie, who was finally looking up, but with a scowl on her face.

“No offense, but I didn’t take you for the kind of girl who cared what a guy thinks.”

“I don’t,” Leonie asserted.

“So I see,” Claude laughed. “Well, how about I cheer you up tonight? Hilda and I are sneaking into town after curfew. There’s supposed to be dancing and partying or something. Come with us. A good dance under the stars can turn any frown upside down!”

“What if we get caught?” Leonie asked.

“Caught schmaught! You are sneaking out with the master of schemes! I’m sure I can think of a way to get us out okay.”

“Umm,” Lysithea interrupted. “What about me? Aren’t you going to ask me to go dancing too?”

“Oh, I would never mess with a child’s bedtime.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m joking, I’m joking! Of course you can come with us! As long as you’re okay with breaking school rules, losing out on sleep, possibly a little drinking. . .”

“On second thought, I’ll pass.”

“Actually, I like the idea of seeing you drunk, Lysithea,” Leonie snickered.

“Yes, I’m sure it would be a hoot,” Lysithea said with a roll of her eyes. “But seriously. Have fun without me. I guess I could cover for you if you needed it.”

“Aw, you are too kind!” Claude beamed. He bent over and kissed her cheek, if only to annoy her. Lysithea made it too easy to tease her.

“Gross, gross! Stop!” Lysithea protested, pushing Claude’s face away. Her cheeks were flushed red, but she was laughing.

“So then, oh grand leader,” Leonie began, leaning her arms on the table. “How are we going to get out of here without the guards seeing us.”

Claude looked around, half to make sure no monastery staff were in hearing distance and half to see if he could spot Dimitri. Still no luck. He turned back to Leonie and Lysithea, a sly grin on his face and hands laced menacingly together. “I am so glad you asked,” he said, “Because I was wondering if you had any rope left over from hunting. . .”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking. Dancing. Plotting. Stabbing. All in one night of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the last chapter in my massive dump. From this point on, I’ll be back on my regular schedule of posting new chapters on Monday evenings. More goodness to come!

“Okay,” Hilda grunted. “If anyone had said anything about climbing, I would not have made such an effort to look cute.”

Claude looked up at Hilda, the last of the trio to climb down the rope from Claude’s dorm room window. “If it makes you feel better,” Claude called up to her, “your ass looks great in that skirt.”

Hilda looked down and stuck her tongue out at him. “Respectfully, fuck you,” she said. Claude laughed. The girl may be lazy, but she had some spunk to her.

Beside him, Leonie tapped her foot restlessly, arms crossed over her chest to cover the low cut shirt that Hilda forced her to wear for the night. “I’m going to freeze in this,” she muttered for at least the third time.

“You’ll be fine. It’s a warm night, and dancing will certainly heat you up. If you really get that cold, you can borrow my cloak.”

Leonie huffed at him, but did not complain anymore. Claude watched as Hilda struggled the last few feet of the journey until he could help her the rest of the way down. “I hope you have a better way of getting back up there,” Hilda said as she readjusted her skirt.

“I do. It’s called, ‘if you’re too drunk to climb back up, then you’re free to ask everyone else how they intend to sneak back in and hope you can copy one of their ideas’.”

“Such a gentleman. Remind me, why does everyone think you’re such a great schemer again?”

“It’s not about the plan,” Claude said, looping his arms around Leonie’s on the right and Hilda’s on the left. “It’s about knowing when to take credit, and when to keep silent.”

“Ah, so that’s you secret,” Leonie said with a laugh.

“Just promise you won’t tell,” Claude teased. He winked at her and she rolled her eyes with a smile on her lips. “Come on, girls. We don’t want to miss the first dance.” _I hope that Sylvain and Felix are already there._

The three rushed into town as they heard music beginning to play. The town square was well lit despite the late hour, and young men and women were packed in, looking for dance partners. Hilda let go of Claude’s arm nearly the second they reached the square, as a handsome young man with blond tousled hair asked her for a dance. Leonie shrunk into Claude, a slight frown on her face. “Care to dance, fair lady?” Claude asked her with a grin. Leonie looked up at him, her eyes wide. “What’s with that look? I told you I was bringing you out for a good time.”

“I just assumed you were being polite.”

“Polite? Does that sound like me at all to you?”

“Not at first glance,” Leonie laughed. “Though I don’t think you’re as bad as you want people to think you are.”

Claude laughed, surprised at how insightful Leonie’s comment was. “In truth, I’ve been looking for ways to get to know all of our classmates better,” Claude admitted. “And I figured you would appreciate a good ol’ folksie dance night.”

“Is that what you think of me?” Leonie laughed. “That I’m a backwoods hill-billy, or something?”

“I think you’ve got more moves than you let on, that’s all I’m saying,” Claude replied with a wink. “Come on.”

He led Leonie onto the open pavement where other young couples were swinging each other around to the beat of the music, played by a pair of fiddlers and a piper standing on top of a makeshift stage. Claude danced with Leonie in circles, letting her correct his steps when he did not move in the right direction at a change in the songs. It was not the same music Claude was used to dancing to back home, but Leonie knew the first three songs at the first note. Apparently they danced to the same songs in her hometown. When the fourth song started playing, though, she halted, tilting her head to one side. “Huh,” she panted. “I’ve never heard this song before.”

“That’s because it’s a song from the Empire, not the Alliance,” Edelgard’s voice said. Claude and Leonie both looked towards her as she approached, her vampire-looking servant Hubert half a step behind her. “The town here tries to play music from all over Fódlan so everyone recognizes at least some of the dances. Apologies, by the way. I would have come over to say hi earlier, but the two of you looked to be having a good time. I did not want to spoil it.” Edelgard looked from Claude to Leonie. “I do not think you and I have properly met yet. You are Leonie, correct?”

“I am,” Leonie replied, a hint of caution in her tone. “And you’re Princess Edelgard.”

“Just ‘Edelgard’ is fine.” Edelgard smiled pleasantly at her. “I have seen you training with Captain Jeralt. You have incredible technique with a lance, and I also understand that you are an expert hunter.” Hubert looked to Claude as if questioning why his precious princess was wasting her time with such idle chatter. Claude shrugged, having no answer himself. Beside him, Leonie blushed and laughed nervously.

“Please, I just do what I need to survive.”

“Don’t be so humble. You have a talent that others envy, embrace it,” Edelgard said. She turned back towards Claude, handing him the drink in her hand. “Hubert and I were going to dance for a song or two, but we have a table saved in the corner over there. You two look like you could use a break. Sit down, drink, relax! We’ll join you later.” Her eyes were icy with intent. Claude looked to where she had gestured and noticed who her table companions were. He smiled at her.

“Sounds like a plan. Enjoy your dance!” he beamed. He took Leonie’s hand and led her through the crowd of people toward the corner table, not taking his eyes off of Sylvain and Felix.

“So,” Leonie began when they were out of earshot. “Edelgard knows who I am.”

“Yeah, it appears that way,” Claude responded absently.

“I think she just wanted to impress you,” Leonie said. Claude looked at her with a furrowed brow. Seriously, what was with all of these girls thinking there was something going on between him and Edelgard after one civil discussion? He did not understand romance in Fódlan.

“Nah, we’re just trying to be more pleasant with each other after the mock battle,” Claude told her. Not necessarily the truth, but not wholly a lie, either.

“Right,” Leonie replied curtly. They were nearly at the table. Sylvain and Felix both had mugs in their hands. By the way Sylvain was swaying, Claude was certain he was drunk. Even Felix looked like he was barely holding himself together, much to Claude’s surprise. Beside them was a girl with blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid. Claude had seen her hanging around with the two and them and Dimitri before, but he could not quite place her name. Irma? Edith? He was sure it would come to him.

“Your majesty!” Sylvain slurred. “Come to join us for a drink?”

“From the looks of things, I have a lot of work to do to catch up. And don’t call me that. I’m not a prince of Fódlan.”

“Apologies for the morons,” the blonde girl said. “Don’t let their current appearance fool you. They’re both lightweights. Finish the drink in your hand and you’ll be caught up enough. Oh! Hi, Leonie.” She smiled suddenly. “I didn’t take you as the kind of girl to hang out with the riffraff.”

“Ouch!” Claude protested.

“Claude just dragged me along. This isn’t normally my scene.” Leonie explained, ignoring him.

“Mine, either,” the blonde girl replied, looking pointedly at Sylvain, “but someone has to be the babysitter. What do you say we leave the children at the table and grab a drink ourselves?”

“Sure,” Leonie replied. She unlaced her arm from Claude’s and patted him on the cheek. “Thank you for the dance. I’ll be back soon.” The blonde girl stood up, and the two left together. Sylvain looked like he wanted to join them, but standing did not seem like an option. Without any other options, Claude sat down.

“I’ve seen her around before, but I don’t think I’ve ever met—umm—“

Sylvain perked up, as if suddenly realizing Claude was there. “Who, Ingrid?”

Claude snapped his fingers. “That’s it, yeah.”

“What about her?” Felix asked almost lazily, taking another drink from his cup.

“She grew up with you guys, right?” Claude asked. He took a drink as well, figuring the conversation would not go his way if he did not appear casual enough. The last thing he wanted was for it to get back to Dimitri that he was interrogating his childhood friends for potential dirt on him. “The two of you, Ingrid. . . And Dimitri, right?”

Felix scoffed. “Yeah, the five of us were inseparable as children.”

“But there’s only four of you,” Claude corrected.

“That’s right,” Felix muttered. “Only _four_ now. . .”

Sylvain glared at Claude and gestured for him not to broach the subject any further. It piqued Claude’s curiosity, but that was not why he as there. He took another drink.

“It’s amazing that you guys have stayed so close over the years,” Claude began again. “I don’t think I have any close friends from my childhood the way you guys do.”

Sylvain laughed, and his head swayed back and forth. He was definitely drunk. “It’s prob’ly more accurate t’say we’re still stuck with each other. Right, Felix?”

“Shut up,” Felix replied.

“Exactly!”

Claude laughed. If anything, the two seemed more like bickering brothers than friends. But perhaps that was why their friendship lasted so many years.

A serving girl came by with a new round of drinks. Felix offered to pay, and Claude thanked him. He was near the bottom of his cup, anyway. Claude smiled at the girl as he took the new cup from her. Another drink.

“Who was tha’ girl with you, Claude? Was that Leonie?”

“Hmm? Oh, umm yeah. It was.”

Sylvain leaned over the table as if to look for her, though by then she was long lost in the crowd.

“She’s a _babe_ when she s’not in a school uniform,” Sylvain said. “Who knew she had tits hiding under there?” Claude grunted in reply while Felix rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night if Claude could not get Sylvain’s mind off of girls. “Come t’think of it. . .” Sylvain added. He pointed a limp hand at Claude. “Your professor’s hot, too. Why’d we get the old guy? S’not fair. . . Even Manuela woulda been nice to look at—“

“Sylvain, shut _up_,” Felix said. He elbowed Sylvain in the ribs, which only seemed to piss him off.

“No, you shuddup! I have a question for Claude-y boy, here.” He leaned over the table, looking Claude in the eye with a surprising amount of sobriety for one who reeked so strongly of booze. “Rumor ‘round the church s’that Byleth had first pick o’ the houses. And she pick’d the Golden Deer for. . . What, you? What makes you so fuckin’ special, pretty boy?”

“It must be my charming demeanor,” Claude replied with a forced smile. This time he took a long, long drink.

Sylvain laughed loudly, slamming his fists on the table and causing Felix’s drink to spill in his lap. “Son of a—“ he muttered.

“That is true,” Sylvain continued, unaware of his friend’s irritation towards him. “You may be a sneaky bastard, but you have more pers’nality than Edelgard and Dimitri put together.”

“This conversation is getting ridiculous,” Felix muttered. He stood up, swaying slightly “I’m going to find something to dry my pants. Claude, do me a favor and watch the idiot, will you? Ingrid will probably be back soon.”

“Sure thing,” Claude said as Sylvain muttered “Asshole.” The table was silent for a moment after Felix left. Claude’s head was starting to rush. He had not drank alcohol in months, not since moving to Fódlan. And even then, he was never known for having the strongest tolerance. “So. . . I’m surprised that Dimitri is not with you guys tonight.” Sylvain cocked his head to one side.

“Dimitri s’not here,” he said. “Went back to Faergus for a couple o’days.”

“Why?”

Sylvain shrugged. “He didn’t say. To visit his uncle, maybe?” He tipped his mug over and frowned as it was empty. “Why d’you ask?”

“Just curious,” Claude mumbled half-heartedly. He was reaching the bottom of his cup, as well.

“Dimitri prob’ly wouldn’t come anyway. He would say it was ‘dishonest t’sneak out here and betray the—the trust of our instructors,’ or some shit like that.” He was still shaking his mug, as if it would magically make more alcohol appear. Claude fought the urge to groan aloud. Whatever Edelgard wanted him to hear from Felix and Sylvain, he was not going to get it out of them that night. Sylvain was too drunk and Felix was too, well, Felix. He looked over his shoulder towards the people dancing, but he could not spot her. Was she actually going to come back, or did she say that to manipulate him into sitting with the two boys when she knew they were inebriated?

The whole thing was frustrating. Claude did not know why he was even out that night. Someone had threatened his life no more than three days earlier, and here he was, drinking, out in public. Like a fucking idiot. All because a prissy, high-and-mighty future emperor had told him to. What a _fool_ he was. Perhaps it was Edelgard who should be referred to as the schemer instead of him.

Claude caught a glimpse of pink hair on the outskirts of the dancers. Hilda was walking around by herself, peering at each person as she passed. _Shit_, Claude thought. It had been nearly an hour since he had seen her, and she was probably looking for him and Leonie. He waved his hand in the air to catch her attention. A mixture of relief and annoyance swept over her face when she saw him. “Good grief!” She exclaimed. “What kind of guy walks into a party with two hot girls on his arms, then no less than an hour later is found drinking with a loser in a corner? No offense, Sylvain. You look nice in that shirt, by the way.”

“Thank you. Is’sat a new necklace?”

“It is, I’m glad you noticed.”

Claude was sure he was delusional at that point. “I’m sorry,” Claude said to Hilda. “Edelgard was supposed to—“

“Edelgard left, hon,” Hilda said, cutting him off.

“Of course she did!” Claude huffed.

“So. . .you _were_ supposed to meet her here tonight?” A mischievous grin crept over her face.

“No way!” Sylvain laughed. “You and Edelgard are hookin’ up? Well I s’pose they do say opposites attract. . .”

“We are _not_ hooking up!” Claude ran his hand through his hair. This was going to get out of hand. “I was hoping to have a little peace between me, her and Dimitri to simmer down any house rivalry after last month. No more, no less.”

Sylvain put up a hand to his mouth as if to whisper to Hilda. “Does he es’pect us to believe this bullshit?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Heyyyyyyy,” a voice interjected. Ingrid and Leonie approached with Felix in tow. He was carrying two cups in his hands. Leonie’s cheeks were flushed, and her arm was linked with Ingrid’s. “No angry words from you, sir. You were the one who dragged us out here to have fun, right?”

Felix set one of the cups down in front of Claude. “Thank you for your service,” he said, inclining his head towards Sylvain. Claude wondered if the guy had a sense of humor after all.

“Leonie, have you been drinking?” Hilda asked.

“Ingrid introduced me to what’s know as a ‘shot.’ It’s like liquid fire, down down down your throat! Then you feel allll warm and loose,” Leonie giggled, shimmying her shoulders ever so slightly.

Ingrid giggled in return, leaning on Leonie’s shoulder. She was looking straight at Claude. “It’s a good way to stay warm in the mountains,” she explained. “The alcohol is stronger than in a beer, though, so you have to pace yourself.”

“I know what a shot is,” Claude told her. Though he doubted the ingredients were identical, hard alcohol was common in his homeland.

“Well, I didn’t know until tonight,” Leonie said. She chuckled to herself. “I had three before Ingrid told me I wasn’t supposed to have that many so fast.”

“Goddess, girl!” Hilda said, guiding Leonie to a seat. “Felix, could you be a dear and get her some water?” Felix nodded blankly and walked away. “I do not want to be having to take care of you if you get plastered.”

“Ah, don’t worry about me,” Leonie said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be fine, I just need to sit for a while.”

“You can sit on daddy’s lap,” Sylvain offered, slapping his thighs.

“_No_,” Ingrid asserted.

“Why? Jealous?” Sylvain asked.

“Please. I’ve seen what you will put your dick in. I don’t want your diseases.”

“Diseases?” Leonie asked. Ingrid’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Just keep away from the pig with the red hair.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“When’d this become Pick on Sylvain Night? I just wanted t’come and have a dance or two, maybe meet a nice girl—”

“Let’s go dance then, Sylvain,” Hilda offered. “Come on, you should know this song.”

“Thank you,” Ingrid mouthed to her. Claude wondered if there was some secret code that all women knew across all nations on how to handle guys like Sylvain. _Hell_, he thought with a chuckle, _they probably have a code for how to handle guys like me, too._

“Y’know what,” Sylvain said, stretching his arms above his head. The motion made him sway. “I would love that.”

Hilda took his hand and led him around the table so he wouldn’t fall on his face. Before leaving, she leaned over to Claude and whispered. “You and I are going to have a _long_ talk tomorrow.”

Claude finished his third drink, listening absently to Leonie and Ingrid as they discussed lance techniques and how they wanted to spar with each other later in the week for practice. Claude tried not to pout, but that was exactly what he was doing. Ever since that note was slipped under his door, he felt like he was spiraling. Who in this part of the continent would want him killed, and why? Did it have to do with his past? The fact that he was the future leader of the Alliance? As much as he tried to be the easy-going guy everyone thought he was, the threat of being assassinated was occupying too many of his thoughts. It was going to get him killed.

_Like it got Marianne killed._

That was another thing. Why the hell did his brain seem to think that Marianne died on the battlefield? Marianne was alive. Marianne was safe. So why did he have this memory—phantom though it was—of her dying in his arms? Of him failing to protect her?

To top it all off, there was Byleth. Strong, terrifying, stoic Byleth, who chose to teach his house for reasons that Claude could not comprehend. Who equally frustrated him and amazed him. Who betrayed him by not telling him the truth about the bandits that he had killed two nights ago.

What was he going to do about her?

“You look like you could use a shot yourself, my friend,” Ingrid said. Claude looked up at her. They had never spoken before that night, but he could have sworn that she was reading every thought in his head like an open book. Ingrid patted Leonie on the shoulder. “Stay here, okay? Felix is on his way with water for you.”

Leonie smiled and waved them off, mumbling something that Claude did not quite catch. Ingrid took Claude’s hand and led him along the buildings towards a nearby tavern. They passed Felix along the way, who gave Claude a threatening look, then kept moving.

“What was that about?” Claude asked.

“Probably me,” Ingrid admitted. “Felix can be a little. . . protective.”

“Are you guys—you know, together?” Claude asked.

Ingrid laughed, but her eyes looked sad. “No,” she said. “Nothing like that.”

“Then why—“

“I was engaged to his brother. He died,” Ingrid said quickly, not looking Claude in the eye. “You might as well know. It will get around the school sooner or later.”

“Gods,” Claude said. “I’m sorry.”

Ingrid shook her head. Thin strands of her blonde hair came loose from her braid and fell along her face. “You didn’t know.” She walked up to the bar counter and ordered the drinks for him and herself, coins to pay already in the tavern owner’s hand. Without question, he pulled out two small glasses and poured a clear liquid into them. Ingrid handed one of the glasses to Claude and raised her own. “What shall we drink to?”

“To your fiancé?” Claude offered. Ingrid considered it for a moment, then nodded her head.

“To Glenn,” she said, clinking her glass against his. They both swallowed the contents of their glasses. Claude’s throat felt like fire and the fumes from the alcohol filled his nostrils. Yet he was surprised to find that it went down smoother than he expected. No, this was not the same stuff he would drink back home at all.

“May I ask what happened?” Claude asked. “Feel free to tell me no. I have a curious mind, but I won’t prod if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t mind,” Ingrid said, despite crossing her arms across her chest. “Have you ever heard of the Tragedy of Duscur?”

“It was when some rebels from Duscur killed the king of Faergus four years ago, right?” Claude asked.

“That is true, but a select group of other nobility were also targeted for assassination. One of them was Glenn. . . He and his men were slaughtered.” Ingrid shook her head. “It feels so long ago sometimes, but I still remember his smile clearly. And his laugh. He was a good man, down to the core. I don’t know if I will ever fully move on from losing him. Nor will Felix, or Dimitri for that matter.”

“Dimitri?” Claude asked. “Was he close to Glenn?”

“I—he. . .” Ingrid sighed, holding herself tighter. “Prince Dimitri was there when Glenn was attacked. In fact, he was the only survivor.” She spoke the last few words in whispers. “I think that makes him feel guilty,” she confessed.

“I had no idea,” Claude breathed. The rushing in his head was stronger now than it had been earlier. His face felt warm. “Let’s go back outside. I need some air.” Ingrid nodded and led him out the door. The music was still playing, but the songs were slower, softer now. More romantic than lively, Claude thought. “What makes you think Dimitri feels guilty?”

Ingrid shrugged. She was watching the couples hold each other close as they swayed to the music. “He hasn’t been the same since the incident,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, Prince Dimitri is a great guy. One of the most sincere people I know.” She looked Claude in the eyes. “But when you’ve known someone for as long as I have know him, you can spot the changes. His eyes look more strained. He looks around corners and behind bushes when he walks past them. He takes his training more seriously, he jabs harder and faster. His sparring partners leave with more bruises and scrapes than before.” Her eyes widened suddenly, as if she realized what she was saying. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“I think I have too,” Claude confessed. In truth, he was struggling to keep himself upright. Ingrid was giving him the exact information that he expected to obtain from Felix and Sylvain, but none of it would stick in his memory if anyone put another drink in his hands. “Do you want to head back to the monastery?”

“I shouldn’t leave Sylvain and Felix alone,” Ingrid sighed, looking in the direction of their table. “Those two boys can get into quite a bit of trouble if nobody is watching them. Especially when they’re drunk.”

“True, and I have Hilda and Leonie with me, as well. . .” Ingrid looked up at him and smiled.

“I can take care of them if you want. You look like you could use some rest.”

“Thank you,” Claude said. He hesitated. “Only—“

“What?”

“I don’t know how to sneak back in,” Claude confessed. “I sort of climbed down a rope, and I don’t think I could get back up again without snapping my neck.” _Oh, the irony_, he thought, grateful that Hilda wasn’t nearby to call him a hypocrite.

Ingrid laughed, covering her hand with her mouth. “Claude von Riegan, grand schemer, too drunk to get into church.”

“I _have_ a way back in,” Claude protested. “It just involves putting myself in too much danger under the circumstances.” His argument only made Ingrid laugh harder. She pulled out her purse and handed him a couple of coins.

“A word for the wise,” she said with a wink. “The Gatekeeper is a bit of a pushover. He won’t get you in trouble if you stop and chat with him for a while.”

“What are the coins for, then?”

“In case anyone else is standing guard with him. Having a bribe handy usually helps.”

“I didn’t take you for the sneaky sort,” Claude said with a grin.

“Hanging out with Sylvain has taught me a thing or two,” Ingrid said.

“Regardless, I owe you one,” Claude said. He winked at her before swaying off towards the end of town. He cut through the dancing couples, which Claude realized was a mistake, as he ended up bumping into one or two people on his way out. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. He felt lightheaded, and his feet did not want to cooperate with him. _Must be because the path isn’t well lit_, he told himself, but he was hardly convinced. His limbs moved more like jelly with every step. He kept his head down, focusing on getting one foot in front of the other. Looking up made his vision blur, anyway.

“Greetings, Claude!” The Gatekeeper called as Claude reached Garreg Mach’s entryway. “Aren’t you out past curfew?”

“I am,” Claude confessed, forcing himself as upright as he could manage.

“And. . . Have you been drinking?” The Gatekeeper asked, a bit of the usual pep out of his tone.

“I have,” Claude confessed again. He wondered why he did not seem to care to hide anything. The Gatekeeper was such a nice guy. Always in a good mood. Claude decided he liked the Gatekeeper.

“You know that’s against school rules, even if you are old enough to drink.” Old enough? What was considered ‘old enough’ to drink in Fódlan, again? 16? 18? 21? It hardly mattered to Claude in that moment.

“I do know,” Claude told the Gatekeeper, his words starting to slur. “But I went anyway. And do you know why, Mister Gatekeeper? Because of the false promises of a woman.”

“Oh, I’ve been there before, sir,” the Gatekeeper said sympathetically. “It’s best not to take it too personal. I’m sure things will be better between you and her tomorrow.”

“You really think so?” Claude asked.

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Well, I don’t. But I appreciate your optimism. You’re a good guy, you are.”

“I do my best, sir!” The Gatekeeper beamed. Claude squinted at him. It was hard to see the man’s face in the dark. Especially with the wall behind him tilting in such an annoying manner.

“Are you going to tell on me to the professor?” Claude asked.

The Gatekeeper shifted from foot to foot. “Oh, I suppose not,” he finally said. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time. No doubt your hangover will be a good enough punishment in the morning, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Claude slurred. “You’re a good guy. No! A great guy. You really are. Have a good night, Mister Gatekeeper.”

“You as well, Claude!” The Gatekeeper saluted Claude as he passed. Claude hardly noticed. He was just grateful there was nobody else as at the entryway to scold him. The Gatekeeper was such a nice guy. Claude decided he was going to learn his name in the morning. He stumbled to the left, past the fishing pond and the cafeteria, towards the stairs that led up to his room. It took much more effort to climb them than usual. By the end, Claude practically felt like he was crawling.

The wooden boards creaked with every step he took down the hall. When he approached his door, Claude heard the rustling of papers in the wind. _Dammit_, he thought._ I forgot that the window was open._ Hoping none of his books or homework had flown out of the room, he opened the door.

A figure clad in black stood above his bed, a decadent knife in their hands. Their face was covered by a mask, so Claude could only see their light-colored eyes when they turned towards him. Claude froze in the doorway. He was unarmed, he realized. The masked figure lunged at him. Claude ducked out of the way, falling to the ground. He scrambled towards his bed, reaching for the place where he kept a knife hidden. The figure stepped on his arm, pinning it in place. Claude grunted in pain. The figure’s knife came down on him again. He caught the blade with his hand, wincing from the sting as his flesh tore open, and kicked the masked figure in the shin. They stumbled backwards, giving Claude the chance to grab his knife and rise to face them.

“Do us all a favor and die!” The figure shouted, lunging at him once more. Claude deflected the blade, then jabbed his hand holding the knife upward into the assailant’s ribs. The figure grunted, and stumbled backwards towards the window. Claude shoved them, and they fell out of the opening. Claude’s stomach lurched as he heard the thud of their body hitting the ground below. He leaned on his bed frame to steady himself, but he puked regardless. The night was silent. Either no one heard the encounter Claude just had with the assassin, or they were too afraid to leave their rooms. Not that Claude would blame anyone for that. He wished he had not entered his room. He should have stayed in the village with Leonie and Hilda. He should have danced the night away and dealt with the consequences in the morning.

A gust of wind blew more of Claude’s papers off of his desk. Claude jumped from the movement, afraid that someone else would come through the window for him. That was when he saw it: a second note, as carefully folded as the one in his pocket. Only this one was folded to hold the form of a wyvern. With his good hand, Claude shakily picked the note up. It took considerable effort to open it, in part due to the skill in which it was folded and in part due to his inability to use his left hand, which he clutched to his chest to keep from dripping blood onto the floor. When the note was at last opened, Claude read its contents with hardly a breath.

_Death has come for the traitor._

The note was not meant for him, he realized. It was meant for whoever found his body later that night, or the next morning. If Claude had not gone to the party, had he been asleep in his bed. . .

The thought made his stomach turn again. He coughed and gagged, but nothing came up. Tears ran down his face. Tears of frustration. Tears of fear. Tears of anger.

Something in Claude forced him to stand. He stumbled back to the stairs, down and to the left, stalking in a not-so-straight line past the lower-level dorms, seeking the person who slept at the end. Light could be seen from the cracks in her door. She was still awake. Claude leaned against the wall and pounded on the wooden frame.

Byleth opened the door.

“Claude?” she asked. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Heya, Teach. May I come in?” Claude asked roughly.

“I think it would be highly inappropriate—“

“Good,” Claude said, cutting her off. He pushed past her and closed the door behind him. Byleth opened her mouth to protest until she saw him in the light.

“Oh, my goddess!” she gasped. “What happened?! I must get Manuela—“

Claude stepped between her and the door. “No. Nobody else must know,” he asserted. “I don’t. . . I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Okay,” Byleth replied cautiously.

Claude extended his wounded hand towards her. His arm was beginning to stiffen. Frankly, he was surprised that he could still stand. “Will you help me with this? I’ll tell you everything that happened after.”

Byleth nodded. She retrieved bandages and a salve from her desk and tended to the wound wordlessly. Claude watched her work, finding that the silence gave him the opportunity to lower his heart rate and collect his thoughts. He wanted to still be angry with her, but in this moment, all he felt was gratitude.

“Are there any other injuries?” Byleth finally said, fastening the bandage to his palm.

“My arm might be bruised from being stepped on, but otherwise no,” Claude told her.

“Are you sure? Your shirt is covered in blood.”

“It’s just from my hand.”

“Will you let me look anyway? Please, just to ease my worry.”

Claude nodded numbly. He raised his arms to let Byleth lift his shirt. His heart began pounding again as she pressed against his abdomen, his ribs, checking for any injuries that Claude already knew were not there. The fight had not lasted long enough for that. . . Byleth’s fingers lingered on his skin, just for a moment, then she lowered his shirt again. She had a pensive look on her face. When she finally looked up at him again, she said, “You reek of booze.”

“I know,” Claude said.

“Did you sneak out to go to that dance in town?”

Claude did not realize that she would be aware of the town’s festival at all. “I did,” he admitted.

“Is that how this happened? Claude, I swear, if you got into a drunken brawl with someone—“

“I didn’t,” Claude cut her off. Byleth looked at him with an intensity in her eyes that he had only seen once before. Claude was not sure if it was the adrenaline or the alcohol, but he was sure that she was ready to fight him as well. She did not speak, only waited for his reply. “I overheard your conversation with Rhea,” Claude told her. He cursed himself silently. That was not what he had intended to say, but the thought appeared in his head, and. . . Out his mouth it came.

“Yes, Seteth notified me of that,” Byleth replied, her tone hard and icy.

“And you can punish me all you want for that,” Claude told her. “But I think you and I need to do some leveling here.” Byleth’s brow lowered, though in confusion or anger, Claude could not tell. “You told me the other day that you picked me—I mean, the Golden Deer, because you did not think I could lie to you, correct?”

“Among other reasons, yes.” Reasons you are no doubt regretting now, Claude thought.

“Then I don’t think it’s fair that you chose to lie to me.”

“Claude, I never—“

“Yes you fucking did!” Claude’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry. I just. . .” Claude sighed. With no other choice apparent, given how his mouth was failing him, he pulled out the note in his pocket. He had not let it leave his person since he first found it. But now, he handed it to Byleth. “You should have told me about the bandits,” he said. Byleth carefully took the note from his hand. “You should have told me that they were the same ones who tried to kill me the night we met.”

“Claude,” Byleth whispered, her hands visibly shaking. “This is a death threat.”

“It is,” Claude said, surprised by how calm he suddenly sounded, speaking of his own death. He handed Byleth the other note as well. “This was in my room tonight. It was supposed to be found after— After. . .” He took a deep breath. His stomach was threatening to heave again. “After I was found murdered in my sleep. Which is likely what would have happened had I not snuck out tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I found the killer in my room.” The words hung in the air between them. Byleth did not ask where the killer was now. Being raised as a mercenary, odds were that she already knew the answer.

“And you think this assassination attempt is connected to the bandit attack?” Byleth asked, her eyes glancing over the second note.

“It could be,” Claude said. He placed his hands over his face. “I received the first note just before we left on the mission. If whoever was trying to kill me had been a member of the church, they could have given our house the mission hoping that the bandits could finish the job.”

“You think someone in the church is trying to kill you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Claude said. “That’s my point! Who here would try to have me killed?!”

“And label you a traitor,” Byleth added. Claude fell silent. That. . . He had a few suspicions of why he could be seen as a traitor. Some of them for completely opposite reasons from each other. But. . . No. He was not ready to tell anyone about that. Even Byleth.

“Probably just a ploy to distract people after my death,” he said weakly. He frowned, feeling tears well up in his eyes again. “Nothing has made sense this week. I have had my life threatened, for reasons I do not know. Then there was that whole thing at the Red Canyon, with Marianne—“

“Marianne?” Byleth asked.

Claude stopped himself short. “It’s nothing, Teach,” he said.

“Claude, if it has something to do with this attack, maybe I can help you.”

“It doesn’t,” Claude told her. He stubbornly wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “At least, I don’t think it does.” Byleth sat next to him on the bed and pat his shoulder. Claude sighed. “I have this. . . Memory that isn’t real. That the last bandit who attacked us managed to kill Marianne before I could kill him.” He looked at Byleth, whose eyes were filled with concern. “I see her alive and well, and I feel guilty regardless. I remember her lifeless body in my arms, I remember looking into her eyes and seeing nothing there. I know it isn’t real, but—“

“It is real,” Byleth said.

Claude looked at her. His heart pounded in his chest and his shoulders shook. Byleth avoided looking at him, keeping her eyes on her hands that now rested in her lap. “What do you mean, Teach?” He could barely utter the words. “This isn’t funny.”

Byleth took a deep, ragged breath, then sighed just as shakily. She turned her body towards him, but still did not look him in the eye. “I told you to hurry towards me,” she whispered. “I was relieved to see you safe, both of you. When you were first separated from the rest of us, I had feared the worst. So I was eager to get you by my side again. Where I could keep you safe. . . You did not see the bandit, and neither did I. He leapt down just after you passed his hiding place in the rocks. . . You may have been too late to save Marianne, but so was I.”

Claude was shaking violently. He could hardly wrap his brain around the words his teacher was saying. “Marianne. . . Did die?”

Byleth nodded numbly. She clenched and unclenched her fists in her lap. “I could not live with that guilt. I figured you could not either.”

“So you—what? Magically undid it all? Turned back time?” Claude asked sarcastically. He was laughing, more due to hysteria than finding humor in the situation.

“That’s exactly what I did,” Byleth admitted. Claude pulled away from her.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am, though,” Byleth said. At last, she looked him in the eyes. Claude saw fear and confusion swirling together. But there was no hint of deception. “The night we met—“ She paused to steady her breath. “I should have died saving Edelgard. I blocked her from a blow while exposing my own back, as a bandit came down on us with an axe. Just before it connected with my spine, I felt time. . . Slow. Then stop. I suddenly found myself in darkness, standing face to face with a girl dressed in clothes from another age—I do not know who she was. Who she _is_.” Byleth seemed suddenly agitated at having to make the correction. Her whole body was tense, as if she was struggling with herself. Claude found himself subconsciously reaching for his knife. “She offered me. . . Her. . . Assistance. A gift. The ability to turn back time. I don’t understand this gift, how it works or why she offered it to me, but I used it that night to save myself, and I used it again the on our first mission in order to save Marianne.” Byleth rose suddenly. She started pacing back and forth, her fists still clenching over and over again. Claude gripped the knife tighter. His teacher was usually so calm and collected. Claude was not so sure he liked this side of her. “No one is supposed to have any memories of what happened before,” she muttered to herself, gripping her hair. “It’s supposed to be a slate wiped clean. . .” She stopped pacing, turning suddenly towards Claude.

“What are you getting at, Teach?” He asked cautiously. The door was still closed, but he was between it and her. And he had height and speed on his side. . .

“I’m sorry,” she confessed. “But I’m not ready for you to know all of this, yet. I hardly have enough answers for myself, and I cannot have this information getting out to anyone. Not the other students, not my father, not Rhea. . .”

Fear gripped Claude as Byleth slowly walked towards him, hands raised slightly. He leapt for the door, but Byleth got there first, blocking his way. She swiped the knife from his hands and threw it out of his reach. Clutching his face in her hands, she stilled him. “I like you, Claude, and I am sorry to do this to you. I promise you that I will tell you everything one day, when I have all the answers that I need for myself. And I promise that I will help you find your killer. You can trust me, Claude. I promi—imorp I .edualC, em tsurt nac uoY .rellik ruoy dnifuoyplehlliwItaht—


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude sets down his axe, tired from training with Hilda. The door opens, and he turns to see Edelgard walk into the training grounds. . . With Byleth

“I think,” Hilda panted, “that’s enough for today.”

“I agree,” Claude huffed. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the front end of his shirt. Sylvain whistled at him from the other end of the training grounds.

“Looking good, your highness! Why don’t you lift that up a little higher?” Felix, who was standing right beside him, punched him in the arm.

“Be mature,” Felix said.

“I’m just checking out the competition,” Sylvain said. He blew a kiss at Claude, who pretended to catch it then winked at him. Gods, how Claude hated that guy. But he had to give him some credit: part of Claude’s laid-back and flirtatious persona was adapted from men like Sylvain that Claude knew back home. It was easiest to get things done in private when nobody took you seriously in public.

Sylvain laughed at Claude’s reaction while Felix looked unimpressed. The sound of the door leading back to the monastery grounds opening drew Claude’s attention away. Edelgard entered, accompanied by Byleth. The pair sent a wave of silence through the courtyard. Claude frowned and looked away. He had been hoping to run into Edelgard that day. Her. . . Or Dimitri, technically, as well. He wanted to talk with them about the night they were attacked by the bandits. He was not sure how possible that would be with Byleth in the room.

But Claude was nothing if not a risk taker.

Byleth and Edelgard parted ways, and Claude walked towards Edelgard. “Hey, Eddie—“ he started to call.

“Claude,” Byleth said in turn. “Do you have a minute? I need to talk with you.” A stream of curse words flowed through Claude’s head as he hesitantly turned towards Byleth instead. He was in for it, surely.

“How can I help you, Teach?” he asked with a smile on his face.

“Let’s walk to my office,” she replied flatly, already heading towards the door. Claude heard Sylvain snicker behind him, but he did not look back. Hopefully Edelgard would be sparring for a while. With any luck, he could catch her later.

Byleth said nothing as the two walked towards her room. Claude figured that she did not want to humiliate him by berating him in front of his classmates. He made sure to walk beside her rather than follow her so it looked at least a little less like he was about to be punished. Byleth held her door open for Claude to step in and closed the door behind them after she followed. “Take a seat, please,” she said, gesturing to the only chair in her quarters. Claude did as he was told, moving the papers around so he could lean on the edge of the desk without crinkling them. In trouble or not, he knew Byleth would not mind. He had sat at that desk too many times within the last several weeks to not be able to sit there comfortably now. Byleth sat on the bed across from him, resting her hands in her lap. “We need to talk about last night,” she said.

“What about it?” Claude asked, a slight smirk on his lips. Rule number one was to never offer up information first, otherwise he risked telling her something that she did not already know.

“I had a little chat with Seteth this morning,” Byleth began. Her head tilted to the side, as if she was analyzing Claude’s reaction. He remained motionless in his position, keeping the relaxed smile on his face no matter how tense he felt. “He passed along your message that the equipment had all been put away, which I found rather odd considering that I had helped you do just that right before my meeting with Rhea.”

“Well, Seteth is getting up there in years. It’s possible that he misheard what I told him.”

“Claude,” Byleth said. Why did she always need to have that disappointed tone when she said his name? “Eavesdropping on a private conversation with the archbishop could be seen as treason, regardless of how innocent your intentions were.” She sighed then, looking back at her hands. “Though I will admit, there was a part of my talk with her that you have the right to know about.”

Claude’s smile faltered. Was this a trick? Where was the yelling, the punishments, the stripping him down verbally for his sly and mischievous actions? “And that is?” he asked, doubting that she would say what he was hoping for.

“I hid a piece of information from you about our last mission.” Claude leaned forward. “The bandits that we were ordered to take out? They were the same group of men that tried to kill you the night that we met.”

Claude sat motionless, his lips parted slightly. She. . . Was. . . Telling him now. Maybe he had misjudged her, maybe she felt guilty. But all that mattered to him in that moment was that he no longer felt like she was keeping him in the dark. A weight felt lifted from his shoulders from a burden he did not realize had been so heavy. Claude exhaled, long and slow. There was still another point to be addressed. “Thank you for telling me. . .” he said slowly. “But it’s not just me who you need to talk to about this. I’m not the only one who was attacked that night, after all.”

“While I do not disagree, Edelgard and Dimitri are not part of my house,” Byleth explained. “Both professors Hanneman and Manuela are aware of the details of our last mission, including the identity of the bandits we went after. It is their responsibility to disclose—or _not_ disclose—that sort of information to their respective students. I know that may not be the answer you want to hear, but you have to trust that we as adults are doing what we think is in all of your best interests.”

The word “trust” nagged at the back of Claude’s mind, but he ignored it. He shook his head in disagreement, though he understood Byleth’s position. If Hanneman or Manuela thought Byleth was stepping on their toes. . . Well, Byleth may have been an adult compared to Claude, but she was hardly in her twenties, and the other two professors were quite a bit older. Claude did not doubt they would drag her in front of Rhea to receive justice if they thought she deserved it. Still, something about her choice in words bugged him. “Is that why you didn’t tell me before the mission? You thought it was in my best interest to go into the mission blind?”

The edges of Byleth’s lips curled down slightly. Her eyes looked weary, and her shoulders were slumped. Had she been having trouble sleeping? “It would be more accurate to say that I was afraid of it being a distraction to you on the battlefield. I was never _not_ going to tell you, but in hindsight, perhaps I should have just been more forward with you from the beginning. Treated you like the leader you proved yourself to be by protecting Marriane. So, please. . . Accept my apology.”

Byleth _did_ look tired, the more Claude looked at her. She had bags under her eyes, her hair was unkept, her jacket wrinkled. But more than that, something about her appeared. . . Claude could not quite put his finger on it. Anxious, perhaps? Her eyes took in every detail of him as she waited to se what he would say next, and that made him feel a twinge of guilt. Sure, he had been ready to give her the cold shoulder all morning, but Claude was not cruel. And Byleth’s face showed him that she was truly repentant for keeping him in the dark. “Oh, Teach,” Claude replied endearingly. “You are always forgiven. At least as far as I’m concerned. How could I remain upset with the woman who saved my life?”

Byleth visibly relaxed at his reply, the tenseness in her features softening. “Thank you, Claude,” she said. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“Any time, Teach.”

Byleth straightened her back and adjusted her sleeves. “With that out of the way,” she continued, “I also have word on our next mission for the month. I will need your tactful expertise once again, I’m afraid.”

“What’s the mission?”

“It seems a noble in Magdred is planning a rebellion against the church that needs to be subdued.”

Claude frowned. Why could they not get a nice, peaceful mission like the other houses? His life was enough of a mess. Not to mention, Magdred was in Dimitri’s home nation of Faergus in the north. North just meant cold, of which Claude was not a fan. “First the bandit business, and now a rebellion? Are we ever gonna do anything but find and subdue people?”

“‘Pointing a sword at the Holy Church of Seiros is akin to pointing a sword at the goddess herself,’ so it must be contained.” The set of Byleth’s mouth indicated that the words she said were not her own. . . And not words she fully agreed with, either. “It is not supposed to be a violent encounter, more so a reminder of the church’s power, if everything goes ideally. We are just going as back-up to one of the knights of Seiros and her soldiers.”

_“Her” soldiers?_ Claude’s interest was piqued. _It couldn’t be. . ._ “Do you happen to know the name of the knight?”

“I believe it was Catherine—“

“You’re _joking_!” Claude blurted.

Byleth raised her eyebrows. “Are you familiar with her?”

“You could say that I’m a fan of her work,” Claude replied hastily. _Catherine, the Holy Knight! _Claude thought excitedly. With all of his worry over the death threat occupying his thoughts, he had nearly forgotten about his own personal mission. After all, he did not cross nations just to attend the officers academy and make friends. He was searching for something, something that Catherine might have. “Well, if we’re just going to tie up loose ends, at least it’ll be pretty safe. I don’t mind having an easier mission than our last one. And if Catherine’s going too, there’s a good chance we’ll get a look at her Relic in action.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed at the word “Relic,” but she said nothing, so Claude did not ask about it. “Just be prepared,” she said. “Again, the intention is for us to be the clean-up, but I can’t help but wonder if more is going on.” She sighed heavily. “There is another thing, as well. . .”

“Go on,” Claude prodded.

“The noble who is starting an uprising, Lord Lonato. . . I was informed by the other professors that he is the adoptive father of one of the Blue Lions students. A boy named Ashe. Do you know him?”

“I can’t say that I do,” Claude admitted. “But regardless, that puts a damper on things. If the mission goes south—well. . .”

“I know,” Byleth said. “I don’t want to think about that, either.” She rose suddenly. “But let’s not worry about it now. We have a few more weeks to plan, and it will take longer to travel than it did for our last mission. There’s no point in wearing you out with all the variables ahead of time.” She opened the door and looked out towards the late morning sky. “Take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at class tomorrow.”

Claude rose, though a bit hesitant. If Byleth thought there was a reason to be wary about the mission, then she was probably right. After all, if she had been a mercenary for as long as Claude suspected, she had enough experience to know when there was more going on behind the scenes. However, it was as she said: they had weeks to prepare. If she said take the day off, who was Claude to argue? He smiled at Byleth and walked out the door. “Thank you, Teach. I’ll see you bright and early!” he called over his shoulder.

The sky was bright with hardly a cloud in sight. Claude debated on what to do with the rest of his day. It had to be nearly noon, so he figured it would be wise to grab a meal before the rush came in. As he stepped down onto the path, a flash of pink caught his eye.

“Finally!” Hilda huffed, rushing towards him. “I was hoping you would be done with your scolding by the time I finished bathing.” Claude realized then that her face was scrubbed pink, and she smelled of wildflowers.

“I actually didn’t get scolded.”

“You didn’t?” Hilda asked, tilting her head to one side. “It sure as hell looked like you were in trouble.”

“Nope. I thought I might be, too, but Teach just wanted to debrief me on this month’s mission.”

“Lame! I was hoping you would create some gossip for me!” Hilda complained.

“I am sorry to disappoint,” Claude said with a laugh. “Can I make it up to you by buying you lunch?”

“Oh, you mean from the _free_ cafeteria?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it takes all the dazzle out of it.”

Hilda laughed, looping her arm through Claude’s. “I suppose a free lunch is better than no lunch at all.”

“Glad to know you enjoy my company.”

“You get lucky sometimes.”

When the two entered the dining room, smells of spices and fresh bread filled the air. Claude inhaled dramatically and sighed. “Now those are the scents of good eatin’!”

“Claude, please!” Hilda laughed, pushing him playfully. “Just get in line.” Claude ushered in behind some soldiers with Hilda beside him. As the cook served him his plate, he scanned the mess hall for a place to sit. The place was surprisingly packed for how early it was. Claude wondered if other students were given the day off after returning from missions, as well. The only faces he recognized were those of Lysithea and Leonie, but there was barely enough room for one person to squeeze in next to them, let alone two. “We may need to sit outside,” Hilda said, taking her own plate.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Claude said absently. “There’s probably some room by the fishing pond.”

“Lead the way, then.” They found seats on crates by the base of the stairs, looking out towards the glistening water. “So,” Hilda began again once they were comfortable. She tore a piece off of her slice of bread. “What were you doing that made you think you would be in trouble with the professor?”

“Oh, you know, I’m always getting into trouble for some scheme or other. It’s my baseline assumption.”

“Ri-ight,” Hilda said, tearing off another piece of bread. “Well, since you aren’t in trouble, how do you feel about going to a little party tonight? I guess there’s supposed to be dancing in the village.”

“Who told you that?”

“Sylvain. Just after you left with the professor.”

Claude made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. “I think I’ll pass. If I have to spend a night hanging out with that guy, I may end up punching him.”

“Why? Sylvain is nice enough once you get past his, you know, obnoxious exterior.”

“You say that like you guys are friends.”

“We are.”

Claude looked up at her, eyebrow raised. “You gotta be joking.”

“We _are_ nobles of neighboring countries,” Hilda reminded him. “Our families get invited to many of the same parties year after year. I won’t claim to know him as well as Felix does, for example, but we’re acquainted enough to be friendly with each other.”

“I couldn’t see myself ever reaching that point with him.”

Hilda frowned. “You know, for a guy who wants everyone to think he’s so laid-back, you can be _such_ a stickler sometimes!”

Claude pressed his hand on his chest, feigning offense. “That is not true!”

“All jokes aside,” Hilda sighed. “What’s been with you the last couple of days? I won’t claim to be an expert on the dashing and mysterious Claude von Riegan, but I can tell something is off. You’re hiding something.”

Hilda did not seem to want to let up on him. Claude smiled, resisting the urge to put his hand in the pocket where his death threat lay neatly folded. “Hiding? Me? Why would I ever do such a thing? I’m an open book.” He spoke his words thick with honey, but Hilda remained unconvinced.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. But I’ll have you know, I’m great at getting people to talk. Especially men.”

“Are you threatening to seduce me?” Claude asked with a laugh.

A mischievous glint appeared in Hilda’s eyes. She leaned forward slightly, fluttering her eyelashes and adjusting her legs in a way that allowed her to sit closer to Claude without seeming to have moved at all. “I’m just saying, I fight dirty.” Though he did not doubt her words, Claude could tell she was teasing him. He was more than happy to play back.

“Oh, darling,” Claude purred, cupping her jaw in his hand. “I don’t give secrets for free.”

“Then we will have to settle on a price.”

“Agreed,” Claude said. He set his hand down and leaned back. “But the decision process will likely take _ages_ of debate.”

“That sounds unbearably like work,” Hilda groaned.

“Someone you could stand to do once in a while,” Claude teased. He winked for good measure.

Hilda burst into laughter. “Oh, you are fun!” Hilda giggled. “If I had known you were this capable of teasing when I first met you, I would have started flirting with you earlier.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “But I’m being serious. I want to know what you’re hiding.”

“And_ I _was being serious: when I decide the right price—“ _a price you can never pay_—“I will tell you anything you want to know.”

Hilda pouted. “Then expect me to get a hell of a lot more obnoxious until that price is decided,” she said. She hopped off the crate and picked up her now empty plate. “Are you done? I can take your plate up to the cafeteria if you are.”

Claude frowned at his lunch. He had hardly eaten any of it, but the truth was that he was not as hungry as he anticipated. Maybe he just needed to rest. He handed the plate to Hilda. “Yeah,” he sighed, hopping off the crate as well. “I think I’m going to take a nap. Have fun at your party tonight. I’ll cover for you if necessary. Just don’t let Sylvain get all. . . handsy.”

“Yes, dad,” Hilda teased. She turned back towards the stairs with a wave of her hand. “I’ll see you at class tomorrow!”

Claude waved back despite the fact that her back was towards him. He really _was_ tired. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he had not slept in over a day. Perhaps the effort from their last battle was slowly hitting him. Claude trudged towards his room, hoping that he would not run into anyone else who wanted to talk to him. His mind swam with mixed images of Byleth, and the bandits, and relics. . .

_The relics!_ Claude had nearly forgotten about his conversation with Byleth already. The excitement to see Catherine and her relic gave him a little extra jolt of energy. He was still too tired to change course, but he made a mental note to take a trip to the library the next day after class. Hopefully there would be some history books that talked about the relics in greater detail than he had access to back home. He wanted to learn all that he could about them. But he would have to be careful, as his interest in them would hardly be considered church-sanctioned.

Claude reached the door to his room and almost immediately felt his heart pound harder. He recognized the feeling of danger, and he sensed that it was something on the other side. Claude cursed silently, remembering that he was unarmed. Still, there was always the dagger hidden behind his bed.

If he could just catch the intruder by surprise. . .

Claude burst the door open, ready to attack—

No one.

No one was there.

The room was empty.

Claude exhaled, relieved, if not slightly confused. Only his bed and the piles of books he had borrowed from the library occupied the cramped space. But his heartbeat would not slow. Something in him shouted that there was an attacker nearby. Claude looked around the corner and under his bed, in crevices created between bookshelves and walls, towards the unbroken window—

_The window is unbroken?_

Why was that shocking to him? He had no memory of the window ever breaking, but somehow felt an impression that something had caused it to shatter.

No, not some_thing_. Some_one_.

Claude rushed towards the window and swung the glass pane open. He looked down at the forest below, searching frantically for any signs of another person. And there were none. Claude was dissatisfied with that answer. Curiosity and fear gripped him equally. Adrenaline pumped through him, making it useless to try to sleep now. He had to investigate. He had to find out if anyone was out there, watching him.

Waiting.

But, for what?

Claude kept his bow ready as he tread softly through the woods just outside the monastery wall. He may not have been a hunter like Leonie, but he had experience with tracking. He kept his eyes low, searching for any sign of fresh footprints. There were none. Farther and farther away from where his window opened to the outside world, he searched the grass and saw little more than a handful of deer prints. The sun was no longer high in the sky. Shadows grew longer and darker as the afternoon went on. Claude threw his bow down, frustrated. What the fuck was he thinking, wandering into the woods by himself? To chase, what, a ghost? He was losing his fucking mind. He was sure of it.

He looked back towards the monastery. Only the tallest of its towers were visible above the tree line. It would take him half an hour to make it back, and weariness was creeping back into his bones. Despite his anger with himself, Claude found the area to be peaceful. There was seldom more than a bird chirping amongst the trees. No one would be able to sneak up on him in that silence. Sighing, Claude picked up his bow and rested it against a nearby tree along with his quiver. Then he settled himself against the massive wooden trunk and closed his eyes. He just wanted to rest. He wanted the world to make sense again. Perhaps a small nap would ease the strain on his mind. . .

Just. . .

A. . .

Little. . .

Snooze. . .

When Claude opened his eyes again, the world was dark. He stretched his arms and blinked to adjust to the night. By some miracle, lights in Garreg Mach’s towers were just visible enough that Claude could follow them. If it was going to take thirty minutes to get back before, it would take at least twice that in the dark. He fumbled for his bow and quiver, then walked towards the lights. The ground felt more uneven beneath his feet now that he could not see where they would land. He cursed himself again and again as he walked for being such a moron. Chasing after a fake memory, by himself, in the woods, sleeping until dark, leaving himself exposed. If something did not change soon, Claude would not need an assassin to kill him. He would do the damn job on his own without even trying.

Music could be heard off in the distance the closer that Claude got to the monastery. He wondered absently if it was coming from the village at the base of the church. Hilda had said there was a dance going on that night. A part of him wanted to join her, but whenever he turned that direction, an image of Byleth appeared in his mind and sobered his thoughts. He had just reasserted that he was in her good graces, he did not want to ruin that so soon. Persistently, Claude trudged towards the front gate, praying it was not too close to curfew for him to be in trouble.

The guard at the gate eyed Claude’s weapon as he passed, but otherwise let him through without issue. Claude silently sighed with relief. So it _was_ before curfew, after all. He debated going to the library to get some reading in, but he was still tired. There was always tomorrow. Back to the dorms he went. Just as he reached the stairs, Claude wondered if Byleth was still awake. Why, he could not answer. He thought of the death threat that had been looming over his head, his increasing paranoia. Maybe it would not be so bad to tell her about it—

Claude shook the thought from his head. He had rules against letting people know his secrets. One always led to more, and Claude had too many secrets to keep on this side of the border. Secrets that his life depended on.

When Claude reached his room, he set down his bow and quiver then stripped out of his school uniform. With how warm the nights were in the summertime, he did not bother putting on his sleeping clothes over his underwear. He pushed aside the books that were stacked on his bed and crawled onto the mattress. He was _tired_. Sleep came swiftly, and Claude embraced it without hesitation.

Cold steel against Claude’s neck awakened him. The blade shifted upward against his chin, pushing his face up and towards the person who held it. The person wore all black and had a mask over their face. Claude’s heart pounded furiously. He was unarmed, naked, and too far away from his bow for it to do him any good.

“Stand, Claude von Riegan,” the person said in a metallic voice. “I want to look you in the eyes when I remove your existence from the world.” Claude did as he was told, slowly planting each foot on the ground before rising to face his attacker. The sword stung against his neck. If he could just move away from the blade, then maybe he could make it to his hidden dagger before—

“Do I at least get an explanation as to why I am being murdered before the deed is done? I feel like that’s within my rights.” Claude asked with a cocky grin on his face. He hoped his smile would disarm the assassin, but they did not waver in the slightest.

“Your very presence is a plague on Fódlan. A rat like you gets no rights.” The assassin raised his weapon, and Claude expected the worst. He thought of home, of wild plains and wyverns soaring in the air.

Of white flowers braided into dark hair.

Blade penetrated flesh.

The wounded assassin staggered backwards. Claude blinked, his jaw slack. He was sure he was dead—he should have been dead, but. . .

Byleth stepped forward from behind him, her sword clenched in both hands and her eyes ablaze with rage. She lunged towards the masked assassin, but was only met with smoke and a folded piece of paper that fell to the floor.

“Dammit!” she yelled, stomping her foot in frustration. “They got away.” She sheathed her sword and turned to Claude. All of the anger in her eyes melted into concern for her student. “Are you hurt?” she asked, her eyes locked onto his.

“No, I’m not,” Claude assured her. “Save for maybe my pride. . .” Byleth gulped and nodded, keeping her eyes on his. Claude wondered why, then was suddenly all too aware of the fact that his teacher was in his room with him, alone, while he was only in his underclothes. “Umm,” he started. “Can you hand me the pair of pants behind you? I’m feeling a little exposed at the moment.”

Byleth wordlessly grabbed Claude’s pants and tossed them to him. She left the room while he got dressed, keeping the door cracked slightly open in case she was needed again. As Claude shakily put on his clothes, he listened to the low commotion going on in the hall. Byleth’s yelling must have woken someone up, as a soft voice could be heard asking if anything was wrong.

“Nothing for you to worry about. Everything his fine, go back to sleep.”

Footsteps slowly padded away. Claude tugged on his shirt with shaking hands. He remembered the second paper that had fallen as Byleth lunged towards the assassin, and picked to up before stepping into the hallway. “You saved my neck, Teach. Literally.” He rubbed the spot where the blade had stung him and pulled back his hand to find blood.

“Let’s get that looked at in my room,” Byleth whispered. “We can talk there.”

The pair walked side by side as they had done that morning, with neither saying a word. Numbness overtook Claude’s body. Had he really been so prepared to die? To give up without a fight? More than anything, he felt like a failure. Byleth guided him into her room and sat him on the bed. Claude watched her as she pulled out bandages and tended to the scratch on his neck. She still had bags under her eyes, but she did not seem quite as disheveled as she had that morning.

“How did you know?” Claude asked her. Byleth’s eyes flicked towards him for a moment.

Her answer came out calculated and precise. “I was grading papers when I heard a noise. At first I thought it was just a cat, but I opened my door to check just in case. I saw that. . . _murderer_ heading for the dorms, so I followed.” She fastened the bandage a little more tight than Claude found comfortable. “If I had not had the sense to check. . .” She looked at Claude accusingly. “You knew someone was out for your life.”

“I did,” Claude admitted, too tired to lie.

“Why did you not tell me?!” Byleth demanded. “Dammit, Claude, life isn’t a game. There is no reset button if something happens to you. I could have stopped this from happening.”

“You don’t know that,” Claude argued.

“Yes, I do,” Byleth asserted. She sat on the bed next to him. Claude met her eyes though he did not want to. He had a feeling she would not let him leave that night until she was satisfied with his answers. “When did you first find out someone was after you?”

Feeling as though he had no other choice, Claude told her everything. About the note, how he suspected it was connected to the initial attack from the bandits, and how his paranoia had left him feeling exhausted all afternoon. “I did not know who to trust,” Claude finally concluded. “Not my classmates, not the members of the church, or the soldiers, either. I had no clues to go off of on who could be my potential killer.” With a mirthless smile, he added, “Though I suppose tonight ruled you out as an option.”

Byleth nodded thoughtfully. She did not ask a single question as he spoke. It was almost as if she already knew what he was going to say, and just wanted to hear him say it.

“And this all began the morning we left for Zanado?”

“Yes. I found the first note that morning,” Claude said. He rested his face in his hands. “Gods, that was such a strange mission from beginning to end.”

“How so?” Byleth wondered.

Claude opened his mouth, but something seemed to grip him, and he froze.

_Don’t tell her about Marianne,_ a voice said in the back of his head. It had a similar feel to when the word “trust” pricked at him earlier that day. He did not understand it, but he thought it would be foolish to ignore it. The phantom memories of Marianne dying had nothing do to with the death threats against him, anyway. “It was just jarring,” Claude told her. “Being separated from the rest of the group, I mean.” He looked up at Byleth, smiling gently to disarm her. “I’m lucky that I had you and Marianne to keep me alive out there.”

The answer seemed to please Byleth, though Claude did not understand why. She hardly seemed the type to be moved by flattery. “I did what I had to,” was all she said in response. Then, in a more serious tone, “I injured whoever came in your room to kill you tonight, but I don’t think I landed a fatal blow. I may have bought you some time, but chances are someone will try to kill you again.”

“I was afraid of that,” Claude replied, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“It’s too late in the night to think of how to handle it right now, but I think we have our work cut out for us in the weeks ahead.”

“We?” Claude asked.

Byleth grasped the hilt of her sword unconsciously. “I’m going to help you find out who this assassin is. No matter if it takes the rest of the year. Your safety is my main priority.” She stood up, releasing her grip from the sword. “You can sleep here tonight if you want,” she said. “I have a cot under the bed that I can sleep on. Until we can get a round-the-clock guard posted for you, I don’t think you should be staying in your room.”

“Thanks, Teach,” Claude said. He stood regardless. “But I think I should be safe for tonight. The chances of getting attacked twice in one evening are slim, especially if my attacker is injured, as you saw to yourself.”

Byleth frowned as she thought his proposition over. “Fine,” Byleth said. “I will discuss this with Rhea and the other professors tomorrow to—“

“No!” Claude cut her off. “This stays between you and me. _Swear_ to me.”

Byleth let out a slow exhale. “I swear it. Nobody will hear of this without your permission.”

“Thank you. I know this is putting a lot on your shoulders—“

“It is putting _everything_ on my shoulders,” Byleth corrected him. “And if you die on me, I will revive you and kill you myself.”

“Okay, okay,” Claude said, raising his hands. “You got it, Teach. You don’t squeal, I don’t die. We both end up happy.”

Byleth huffed. She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him up and down. “One more thing before you leave. You say you don’t know who is after you, or why, but do you really have no other clues to go on?”

“No. Well, yes, but—it’s ridiculous.” He pulled both notes out of his pockets and handed them to Byleth. “I haven’t read the second note yet, but both of them are folded in the same manner. Very crisp, very precise. Like they were folded with extra care. And I would be willing to bet the handwriting is a match, too.” Byleth opened the first note, then the second, reading over each of them carefully. When she was done with the second note, she handed it back to Claude so he could read it.

_Death has come for the traitor._

“I’m guessing this one was supposed to be found after my death, then,” Claude stated bitterly.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, the handwriting doesn’t match that of any of your classmates,” Byleth murmured. “What does it mean by ‘traitor,’ though?”

“Probably just a ploy to distract people after my death,” Claude said weakly. 

“Hmm,” Byleth replied, looking at nothing in particular. “A death threat, carefully folded. Followed by an assassination attempt that was in turn supposed to be followed by a _second_ folded note. It’s not much to go on, but I will keep my eyes open for anything that seems connected.”

“I’ll do the same. Chances are, whoever is after me is staying at the monastery. They’ll slip up sooner or later.”

Byleth looked back at him. Her eyelids were drooping. Claude imagined he looked very much the same in that moment. “Let me walk you to your room?” she asked.

“Lead the way, Teach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t sure how to make it clear since this is written in Claude’s point of view, but the reason Byleth is so tired is because she did such a long time-jump, and did not get any sleep because of it. I figured I’d mention it for those of you who are like me as a reader and question all of the tiny details lol.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Deer obtain a new student, Claude sets some groundwork for the future, and Byleth invites another student to join them on their upcoming mission.

Claude trudged to class, squinting from the morning sun. After Byleth returned him to his room the night before, he had laid awake, jumping at every sound. He hoped that she would have mercy on him and not give any intensive lectures. He reached the Golden Deer classroom and halted. Sylvain sat in the closest seat to the door, his head resting on his crossed arms over the desk. “Uhh, Sylvain?” Claude asked.

“Could you not talk so loud?” Sylvain murmured in reply. “I have this pounding headache. . .”

Oh yeah. Claude remembered that Hilda had said she was going with Sylvain to the village dance the night before. Apparently Sylvain had done his fair share of drinking.“Believe me, I would love nothing more than to leave you alone. But here’s the thing: your hangover? Messing with your brain a bit. You’re in the wrong classroom.”

Sylvain turned his head and peaked up at Claude with one squinted eye. “I’m not in the wrong classroom,” he said, his words still muffled by his arm. “I transferred classes yesterday.”

“You did what now?”

“Good morning, class,” Byleth said, walking in behind Claude. “Good morning, Claude. Please take your seat so we can begin.” She gestured to the table occupied by Lorenz, and Claude grudgingly took the seat next to him.

“Of all the people to get transferred into our class,” Claude muttered under his breath.

“It’s preposterous! That slob of a noble only transferred over because he finds Professor Byleth attractive. And he doesn’t even have the courtesy to show up sober!” Lorenz replied in a heated, low tone. He and Claude eyed each other momentarily.

“Did we just agree on something?” Claude asked, a sly grin on his face.

“Just don’t let it get to your head, von Riegan,” Lorenz said.

Byleth began writing on the board, pulling Claude’s attention back to the front of the room. “Today we are going to be looking at battle tactics in regards to weather. Not every battle is going to take place on a well-lit afternoon. Sometimes it will be necessary to face your enemies in unbearable heat, pouring rain, the dark of night, or even an eerie fog. Let’s start by discussing—“

Claude tried his best to focus, but his mind and body were both weary from the night before. The best he could hope for was to not fall asleep. And that was about all he managed. He only recognized when the lecture had finally ended by the fact that his classmates were all packing up their belongings and leaving again. Claude looked down at his notes and frowned to find an empty paper. He would definitely need a nap to get through the day.

He packed his things slowly, hoping to get a word in with Byleth before picking up some books from the library. Leonie was asking some follow-up questions about one of Byleth’s examples during the lecture, but it was nothing too in-depth. When Leonie was satisfied with the professor’s answer, she left the room, leaving Claude and Byleth alone.

“So, Teach. . .”

“Yes, Claude?” Byleth asked. She did not look up from her notes.

“I saw we had a new student in class today.”

“Sylvain? Yeah, he was sparring with me yesterday afternoon. He complained that he never got any practical lessons with weaponry from Hanneman and that he did not think he was being properly motivated, so I asked if he wanted to join the Golden Deer house and learn under me instead.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And how do you think, exactly, that you can motivate Sylvain better than Professor Hanneman?” Claude certainly knew how Sylvain _hoped_ to be motivated. . .

Byleth looked up at him, tilting her head to the side innocently. “By scaring the living shit out of him, of course.” Claude laughed, shocked by her response, and Byleth smirked at him. “Let me worry about Sylvain. I’ve handled guys worse than him before.”

“Oh, have you now?”

Byleth leaned forward on her desk. “I was one of only a handful of women in a mercenary group. You can fill in the blanks.”

Claude cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said. Byleth shrugged.

“Have you given any thought to our predicament?” she asked.

“I have. A temporary solution is already being put in place.”

“Which is?”

“One of the soldiers in my battalion is an old friend of my father. I’m going to ask him if I can stay in the soldier’s quarters with him for a while. He won’t mind.”

“I didn’t realize you were acquainted with any of the men here,” Byleth said.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Claude admitted. “Between you and I, he’s in a bit of trouble and is trying to lay low. . .”

“You can leave it at that. I don’t want to know any more if it will incriminate anyone,” Byleth sighed. “I’m actually glad I have you here, because I forgot to bring something up to you yesterday. Manuela, Hanneman, and I decided it would be fun to trade off students for missions this month. That way you all can get to know each other better.”

Claude did not realize until that moment that “fun” was part of Byleth’s vocabulary. “That’ll certainly be interesting,” he said.

“I think so, too. You, Dimitri, and Edelgard are off limits as house leaders, but I like the idea of getting to know some of the other students, myself.”

“Who are we taking for our mission?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I think it would nice to have another sword user on our team for once. I can’t carry that burden alone forever.” Her eyes crinkled. “I’m supposed to have a sword training session today, so I’ll make my decision then.”

“Sounds good,” Claude said. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m heading to the library.”

“To study? That would be a pleasant surprise.”

“I’m full of surprises, Teach.” He winked at her as he walked out the door. The day was warmer now that the morning had passed. Claude kept to the shade as much as he could on his way to the second floor of the monastery. Students waved to him as he passed, and Claude did his best to smile and wave back. These would be his people one day. Best to make a good impression while he could. He rounded a corner just by the stairs and nearly ran into a couple speaking in hushed tones against the wall. “I’m so sorry, I—Marianne?”

Marianne immediately stepped away from Dimitri, her cheeks flushed. _Dimitri?_

“Good afternoon, Claude,” Dimitri said. Claude could never get over how deep his voice was in comparison to his wiry frame. “I was just discussing the Blue Lion’s upcoming mission with Miss von Edmund.”

“Hanneman asked me to assist them this month,” Marianne added. “Apparently all of the classes are trading students.”

“So Teach just informed me,” Claude said, looking back and forth between the two. “Please, don’t let me interrupt—whatever is going on here.”

“You are not interrupting. I was just about to head to the library,” Marianne said quickly.

“What a coincidence!” Claude beamed. “So am I. Would you like an escort?”

“Okay, sure,” Marianne agreed, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Claude grinned. Maybe he could wiggle some more details out of her on the way. He was curious when she and Dimitri had ever met, let alone gotten close enough to warrant the hushed tones in a corner. He severely doubted they were only talking about class missions. Marianne bowed to Dimitri, much more elegantly than Claude realized she was capable of. “Until we meet again, Prince Dimitri.” Dimitri bent down and kissed her hand. He gave Claude a disgruntled look before walking out of view.

“That was _adorable_,” Claude said to Marianne once he was sure Dimitri could not hear him. “The perfect image of Fódlan chivalry, really. I should take notes.”

“Claude, stop,” Marianne whispered. “You are making something out of nothing.”

“Okay okay, I’m just kidding. Shall we head to the library?”

Marianne swallowed and nodded, gripping the sides of her skirts. “I never got the chance to talk to you after last week,” she added as they walked. “You were very kind to me after the battle, even though I know my presence brought you trouble at the canyon. I wanted to tell you thank you. I hope next time we fight side by side, I will be much less of a bother to you.”

“Hey, now. That’s not fair to you. I meant every word that I said, the gratitude is mutual.” Claude glanced down at her and a lump formed in his throat. She looked as weary as he felt, her eyes sunken in and her hair falling out of its braid. He thought again of the phantom memory that haunted him on the canyon, where she was killed by the bandit, her blood on his hands as he cried over her body. He prayed that the Blue Lions would keep an eye on her on their mission. “Just promise you’ll take care of yourself out there, okay?”

“I won’t get in anyone’s way,” Marianne said. Claude figured that was close enough.

The library was empty when they entered, save for a student or two and the librarian, Tomas. “Looking for anything in particular?” Claude asked Marianne in hushed tones. Marianne pursed her lips and shook her head.

“I just like to read. It’s peaceful. I was hoping to find a good story book,” she whispered back.

_Fat chance of that,_ Claude thought. The archbishop’s right-hand man, Seteth, kept a close watch on what books were donated to the library, removing anything he considered unsavory. Which, in Claude’s mind, meant anything that was too mature for kids under the age of eight. However, Marianne hardly seemed like the type to enjoy tales involving gore and betrayal and steamy trysts between lovers, anyway.

“I’ll meet you at one of the tables once you’ve found something,” Claude said to her. He, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was looking for. Claude made a bee-line for the history section, grabbing two or three promising-looking tomes on Seiros and the Ten Elites. One of those was bound to have more information on their relics. Once he had those, he took a glance at the science section. If he could just find. . . _Ah, a book on poisons. Perfect._ Claude reached for the dust-covered text.

“You know, most students return the books they have finished reading before taking new ones.”

“Gods!” Claude exclaimed under his breath, nearly dropping the books. “Oh, hey Tomas.”

Tomas chuckled. “It is not often that I see wily young men such as yourself so interested in learning. But you seem to be quite the eager learner, Claude.”

“Wily or not, I still have to rule a nation one day. There’s a lot you have to know in order to be a good ruler,” Claude said, forcing a small laugh.

“Ruling requires a knowledge of poisons?” Tomas asked. His tone was innocent enough, but his eyes were too questioning for Claude’s taste.

“If I can detect a poison before I ingest it, am I not saving myself the trouble of dying?”

Tomas chuckled softly. “I suppose so,” he allowed. He glanced around and leaned closer to Claude. “Those history books will tell you part of the story, but if you finish those and find yourself wanting. . . You let me know. I would be willing to let you borrow books from the staff library, which has a little more variety.”

“That would be great—“

Tomas put up a finger. “_If_,” he emphasized, “you remember to return the other books you have borrowed. These shelves are looking too bare these days.”

Claude sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, old man. But I’ll see what I can do.”

Tomas smiled and inclined his head. “Enjoy your reading, Claude.”

Claude smiled, clutching the books in his hands, then he turned back towards the tables where he had told Marianne to meet him. She was nowhere to be found. Claude frowned. No doubt she turned tail and left the second Claude had his back to her. _So much for learning about her conversation with Dimitri_. At a corner table by herself sat Hilda, however, so Claude headed in that direction. “Are you actually reading, Hilda?” he teased. “I thought you hated studying.”

Hilda looked up and chuckled. “Oh, hush. It’s just a letter from my brother. He sends them all the time.”

“Your brother, huh?” Claude racked his brain, trying to remember which of the Alliance nobles Hilda was related to. _Hilda. . . Goneril, right?_ It came to him quickly once he remembered her last name. “Isn’t he known as a great general of the Alliance?”

“Don’t even start that with me,” Hilda scoffed, contorting her face in annoyance.

“Am I picking up on some sibling rivalry?” Claude whispered, wiggling his eyebrows. Hilda rolled her eyes, apparently unamused. Claude did not realize she was so. . . touchy about her brother. “But all joking aside,” he began, pointing to the letter in her hand, “he must really care about you if he writes all the time.”

“You could say that,” Hilda said. Her tone was less harsh now, but still not completely softened. “I think it’s more likely that he’s bored, now that the situation in Almyra has settled down. He does nothing when he’s not fighting.”

“Ah, the Almyrans. The ‘eastern menace,’ as they’re often called,” Claude said in a tone that he hoped properly hid his bitterness. Images of battles flooded his mind, of soldiers laying lifeless on the ground before his feet. Soldiers from both sides of a war fought for the sake of satisfying men safe in their lavish homes. He shook the thought from his head and turned away from the table. He did not want to risk her getting more information out of him. “I think I’m gonna go study in my room,” he said. Hilda caught his arm and looked up at him, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Hitting close to home, am I?” she asked sweetly. “Not a big fan of war?”

“Ah, are we still playing this game?”

“I have nothing better to do,” Hilda sighed. “What can I say, you’re a hard guy to grasp.”

“Oh, I would let you grasp me any day,” Claude said with a wink. “But if this whole secret thing goes on past the end of the month, I’m going to have to start avoiding you altogether.” Hilda chortled, and he kissed her on the cheek. “Tell your brother I say hi when you write him back, will you?”

“I’ll send him all your love and kisses,” Hilda said.

Claude chuckled at her as he left the library. He walked the rest of the way to his dormswith his head low, not much in the mood to talk to anyone else. He wanted to get a head start on reading his books. Yet when he reached his room, there was someone waiting for him by the door.

“Ah, there you are, kiddo!” the man said. He was covered head to toe in armor with his helmet on securely, but Claude knew that voice anywhere. “I thought we were going to meet right after your class this morning. When you didn’t show up at the barracks, I figured you were napping.”

“You’re right,” Claude said. “I completely forgot. I’m sorry, Nad.”

Nad chuckled. “Your head has always been in the clouds, ever since you were a boy. I expect no less of you.”

Claude smiled and rolled his eyes. “Come on in,” he said. He shifted the books into one hand and opened the door. When they were were safely in with the door closed behind them, Nad took off his helmet. His tan face was covered in scars, but never failed to carry a smile.

“So what is this about, kiddo?” Nad asked. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to behave too familiarly with each other in case someone was paying too close attention.”

Claude made a space for his new books on the bed then set them down. “Which is why I know you’ll take me seriously when I say this,” he began. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Someone tried to kill me last night.”

Nad’s smile dropped into a scowl. He clenched his fists tightly. “Who?” he asked flatly.

“I don’t know,” Claude admitted. “They wore a mask and disguised their voice. I don’t even know if it was a man or a woman. Teach manage to injure them but—“

“Your professor?”

“Yeah, she saved me.”

“That scrawny little girl?”

“She’s a lot more powerful than she looks. And you’re focusing on the wrong details here.”

Sorry, Sorry,” Nad grunted. “So you were attacked, and they got away. You have no idea who could be after you. How do you want me to be involved?”

“They attacked me in my room. I don’t feel comfortable sleeping in here if there’s a possibility of them breaking in again. I know it’s a lot to ask, but until I figure out more, I was wondering if I could bunk with you.”

“Why not just have more guards posted around? Surely if you talk to the archbishop—“

“I don’t want her knowing. I don’t want _anyone_ knowing. If word gets out that I’m looking for an assassin, it may make them more difficult to find.”

Nad rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Are you saying you think the assassin is in Garreg Mach?”

“I’m saying it’s a strong possibility.”

“Hmm,” Nad grunted. “Well, I won’t argue with you. There’s no small list of reasons that someone could be after your head. And your father would kill me if I let anything happen to you. But how do you expect to explain you not sleeping in your dorms?”

“I don’t.” Claude smiled. “Nobody at the monastery really checks in on the students’ whereabouts at night. It’ll be easy to sneak out after curfew to meet you in the barracks. Then the next morning, I’ll sneak back into my room.”

Nad rolled his eyes. “That’s going to get old really quick, kiddo.”

“I know. Which is why I plan to find my killer quickly.”

“And how do you expect to do that?”

“Just leave the details to me. If I need any help, I’ll let you know.”

Nad chuckled. “Typical Claude. You always have a plan up your sleeves.”

Claude’s smile widened. “I learned from the best,” he said. With a chuckle, Nad put his helmet back on and reached for the door.

“I guess I’ll see you tonight. Take care of yourself until then.” He opened the door and left.

Claude breathed a sigh of relief. That had gone better than he anticipated. Nad was an experienced warrior, and he could be incredibly calm under pressure. But when it came to Claude’s safety, the man could be a little trigger-happy. It would not bode well for Nad to draw too much attention to himself, though. Not now. Not in Fódlan, certainly.

Claude pushed the thought aside. He turned to the books he had retrieved from the library, picking up the one on the top of the pile. He wanted a distraction, if only for the afternoon. Because once the new day began, he needed to plan. It would take days—or weeks—to get any results, but Claude was patient. He was going to find his killer. He was going to confront them. And if all went well. . .

Claude was going to kill them.

The march north into Magdred was brutal. Even in the summer, the Holy Kingdom of Faergus was several degrees cooler than the southern territories of Fódlan. Claude, who was not used to the cold, marched forward with clenched teeth, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his torso for warmth. He was surprised by how much better his classmates handled the weather. For the most part, they only dressed in one or two more layers than usual. Sylvain, who originally was from Faergus, had his sleeves pushed halfway up his arms. Just looking at him made Claude shiver harder.

The only one who seemed to be dealing with it worse than him was Petra. Claude glanced at her, studying the pained yet stubborn look on her face. Poor girl. It was almost cruel to ask her to assist them in their mission, though Claude doubted that Byleth had considered the temperature when inviting her. Nonetheless, Petra had a reputation for her ferocity with a blade. Claude hoped the cold would not hinder her in the heat of battle.

Ahead of the group, Byleth raised her hand and signaled for the group to stop walking. It was difficult to make her out in the fog without concentrating. Claude wished they would have picked another day to march onto Magdred. A warmer, sunnier day, perhaps. Byleth looked back at Claude and beckoned him forward. As he approached her, another figure stepped forward. Claude looked at her tall armored figure, and her blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and his heart began to race.

“Claude,” Byleth began, “I believe this is your first time meeting the Holy Knight Catherine, is it not?”

“So this is your house leader,” Catherine said. She extended a hand to Claude. Claude beamed as he took it.

“It really is an honor to accompany Catherine, wielder of Thunderbrand, on a mission,” Claude said. “I hear you’re intimidating enough to silence the howling winds!” He likely sounded like an excited child, but he hardly cared. He had heard countless stories of her conquests and the power of her Relic. She was practically his hero.

“I didn’t know you named your sword Thunderbrand,” Byleth said. Claude looked at her in shock. He then recalled how she looked confused earlier in the month when he mentioned Catherine’s Relic. _Does. . . She not know about the Relics?_

“I didn’t name it,” Catherine replied with a laugh. “It’s one of the Heroes’ Relics, given to the Ten Elites by the goddess a long, long time ago. They passed the weapons on to their descendants when they grew too old to wield them, as did their children, and so on and so on, which is how Thunderbrand was obtained by yours truly.” She winked at Claude then turned back to Byleth. “It’s an honor to wield, but I’m afraid there won’t be any chance for that today. Our mission is to help clean up the aftermath, not to fight.”

Claude frowned as he remembered the reason behind their mission. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said to Catherine, “do you know why Lord Lonato would incite such a reckless rebellion? I mean, he had to have known he had no chance of winning.” If anyone there were to know the answer to that question, it would be Catherine. She had been serving under Rhea for years, if Claude remembered correctly. She would have endless knowledge on the going-ons in Fódlan. And Lonato’s possible motives had been plaguing Claude for weeks.

Catherine looked at Claude with pain in her eyes. Even Byleth looked like she was listening intently now. “I do know,” she admitted. “It all goes back to the tragedy of Duscur. . .”

“It happened about four years ago,” Claude recalled. “The king of Faergus was murdered by the people of Duscur. That about covers it, right?” Even as he asked the question, something tugged at the back of his mind, telling him that there was more to the story.

A shot glass raised.

A toast to a murdered man.

_“To Glenn.”_

Who the hell was Glenn?

“To put it simply, yes,” Catherine said, pulling Claude back into the present. “But there’s more to that story. They had accomplices within the kingdom, as well. Lord Lonato’s son, Christophe, was one of them, and so he was handed over to the church for execution.”

“I was unaware that the church executes criminals,” Byleth said. She had a disapproving tone to her voice. Claude thought that she would have to watch that in front of the more devout members of the church if she wanted to avoid getting into trouble.

Catherine frowned. She crossed her arms defensively. “Speaking from the church’s perspective, we simply passed judgement according to our doctrine in place of the kingdom, which was in complete chaos and without a ruler.” She sighed, the sadness coming back into her eyes. “But whatever the truth behind that incident may be, Lord Lonato has harbored resentment toward the church ever since. Well... To be more specific, his grudge isn’t only against the church. It’s also against the one who turned Christophe over to them...”

Though the tone in her voice indicated the answer, Claude opened his mouth to ask her who that person might be.

“Report! The enemy is approaching!” a soldier shouted, running towards the trio. “They can’t be avoided,” he panted. “Their numbers are far greater than we predicted. They used the fog to slip past the knights’ perimeter!”

Catherine drew her sword, her face stern. She turned towards Byleth. “It looks like our mission just changed, Professor.” Byleth nodded, and Catherine turned to the rest of their group. “Everyone, prepare for battle!” she called.

The group scrambled into formation. Byleth rushed from student to student, reminding them of their positions and giving a little extra encouragement where it was needed. Claude watched her from where she stood. Sylvain stood erect as she passed, his face filled with worry, which caused Claude to smirk. _Byleth truly meant it when she said she was going to motivate him with fear, after all._

The last person Byleth spoke to was Petra. She whispered something in her ear then inclined her head towards Claude. Together, the two young women approached him. “The professor says I am to be teaming up with you,” Petra said. Her accent was surprisingly light for a girl from another nation.

“The fog is more dense than I anticipated,” Byleth explained. “The plan as a whole is to stick together so the enemy does not get in between us.” _Like the last mission_, Claude thought with a hint of shame. “But in case the worst happens, I don’t want anyone left alone. Petra will be your partner today.”

Claude nodded in agreement. He did not know why Byleth had not informed him of this plan earlier, but otherwise had no complaint. Together, he and Petra took their places in the army’s formation. Once everyone was ready, they marched.

The fog rolled in thick, and the party was soon pressed in close together by the trees that grew more closely together the deeper in they walked. Petra stood diligently at Claude’s side with her sword drawn. Everyone beyond her was a silhouette, if visible at all. The only noise was the crunching of leaves beneath their feet. “I am not liking this silence,” Petra whispered. “It is giving me nervousness.”

“I don’t like it, either,” Claude agreed. Though Claude could sense their allies on either side of them, there was no telling where—or when—the enemy would show up. Several minutes passed, then Claude heard it: the faint clanging of metal on metal ahead of them as the fighting began. “Be ready,” he said, and Petra clenched her sword tighter.

The battle grew closer with each cautious step forward. Claude’s fingers twitched on his bow string. How he wished he had grabbed a shorter-range weapon! By the time the first rebel came into view, he was already taking aim. He let his arrow fly.

Time sped up the moment the battle reached them. Petra may not have been great at speaking the common language of Fódlan, but she read non-verbal cues faster than anyone else Claude knew. He would have to do little more than point or look in a certain direction, and she understood that he was telling her where to swing her sword next. She knew to duck when Claude raised his bow, to charge forward when an enemy was at the wrong distance for him to shoot in the fog. She knew how to _kill_. Deeper into the forest they marched, and neither had a scratch on them, as far as Claude could tell. It was in larger part due to Petra than himself.

A sound like thunder clapped in the air, causing the pair to duck instinctively. Claude figured Catherine must have finally drawn her blade. He wished that he could see her in action. _If only there was no fucking fog!_

Claude nearly tripped as he walked. As he looked down, a mixture of anger and sorrow overcame him. It was a soldier he had killed earlier, if the man could even be called that. His sword was thin and rusted, and the man was not even dressed in armor, only rags.

“Claude?” Petra asked. Her brow was furrowed. “We must be moving.”

“The nobles start the war, but it’s the commoners who spill their blood first,” Claude growled. He forced himself to look away from the corpse. “Alright, fine. Let’s go.”

Several minutes—and bodies—later, a white shape rushed past in the fog, a streak of red light beside it. He knew it must have been Catherine and her Relic. Where she disappeared into the mist ahead of him, shouting arose between her and a man whose voice Claude did not recognize. They went silent again, and suddenly the fog lifted. Petra drew closer to Claude. “I did not have knowing that fog in Fódlan could disappear so quickly,” she said.

“I didn’t, either.” He took a moment to assess their surroundings. While trees still spotted the area, it was quickly apparent that the group from Garreg Mach was about to enter a clearing, as the spaces between the trees were larger again. Few of the rebel militia were left now. Without the protection of the fog, Claude wondered how many retreated. He looked among his allies and counted the other Golden Deer, fearing that they had not all made it as far. Ignatz, Leonie, Raphael, Hilda. . .Lorenz, Lysithea—Yes, everyone accounted for.

Except—

A skirmish could be seen just ahead in the clearing. Fearing the worst, Claude charged forward, leaving his classmates behind. The sound of footsteps thudding just after his told him that Petra followed. Claude readied his bow, searching for his next target.

By the time he reached the clearing, only a handful of people remained standing. The closest to him was Catherine, and the farthest was a man that Claude determined to be Lord Lonato, based on the difference in dress between him and his men. Between them, with her arms raised, stood Byleth. _She’s alive,_ Claude thought, relieved. The feeling was quickly replaced by anxiety as he took in more details of the situation before him.

Byleth was unarmed, facing Lonato, who had his spear in hand. Claude wondered if the iron blade on the ground several feet away was hers. One of Lonato’s guards charged her, and the others followed suit. Catherine ran towards them, Thunderbrand raised to the sky. With a deafening crackle, she slayed each one of them before Byleth lifted a finger, then she turned towards Lonato.

“No!” Byleth cried, stepping between Catherine and Lonato again with her arms upraised. She gave Catherine a warning look before turning back to Lonato.

“You have been deceived by that bitch,” Lonato spat, inclining his head toward Catherine. “I will show you the truth!”

“I am not here to decipher truth from lies,” Byleth said carefully. Claude remained frozen, unsure what could be done from his position. “I am only here to stop the fighting. I beg of you Lonato, think about why you are doing this. Is it really worth it for you? Think of Ashe. Think of your son!”

Lonato’s face darkened. He adjusted the spear in his hands. “I _am_ thinking of my son,” he said. He raised his spear and lunged towards Byleth. Claude raised his bow all too late to help her. He heard an impact, and a grunt, then Lonato’s body fell. Byleth pulled away the dagger that she had used to stab him. Claude did not see her draw the weapon at all. It must have been hidden on her person the entire time. Byleth knelt down and stroked Lonato’s face mournfully. “Christophe. . .” Lonato uttered. “Forgive me. . .” His eyes glazed over, and Claude knew he was dead. Byleth remained by his side as the knights and students ushered into the clearing to see what had happened.

“Professor. . .” Ignatz began, inching closer to Byleth. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Byleth replied, her voice like gravel. She rose stiffly and turned to Catherine. “Take care of the rest. I’m done for today.” She marched away with a face like stone. Catherine watched her leave with sadness in her eyes before turning towards the troops.

“Well done, everyone,” she said in a voice that held no joy. “Let’s gather our troops and go.”

The soldiers mobilized unceremoniously, many with their heads hung low. They picked up the bodies of their enemies and companions alike to burn to ash. Claude absently wondered if any of the men or women recognized the faces of the rebels whose bodies they lifted. Hilda walked over to Claude’s side as he watched them. “No one seems happy. . .” she whispered.

“It is not a moment to be feeling joy,” Petra replied. Claude had nearly forgotten that she was standing beside him.

“Excuse me,” he murmured to both of the girls. He ran to catch up with Byleth. She was a fast walker, as she was already far into the trees when he spotted her. “Hey, Teach!” he called.

Byleth stopped, but she did not face him. Her hands were balled into trembling fists. “What a foolish man,” she said through clenched teeth, making Claude stop mid step. “To think his death could have accomplished anything.”

“You’re talking about Lonato,” Claude said slowly, deciphering her mood. Byleth nodded her head. “You did all you could, Teach. Nobody here doubts that.”

“You’re right. Of course,” Byleth whispered. She turned to face Claude, and her eyes were rimmed red. “Even if I had tried to stop him a dozen times over, I doubt I could have found the words to say to save him. And now, I have to return to Garreg Mach, face his son, and—“ Byleth wavered. Claude rushed forward to steady her.

“Easy now, easy,” he said to her.

“I’m sorry,” Byleth said, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I’m just suddenly so tired.”

“Come on, let’s get back to camp.” He wrapped his arm around Byleth’s waste to steady her as they walked, then led her slowly back to where they had made camp the night before. His classmates were already there, pitching tents and starting a fire by the time they arrived. Claude wished Marianne was there, too. The Blue Lion’s mission ended up being planned for the same day as theirs, so she was clear on the other side of the country. Her healing abilities would have surely been useful.

“Professor!” Leonie gasped when she saw them. She rushed to Byleth’s side and helped Claude steady her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“She just needs some rest,” Claude explained, shifting so Leonie could take her off his hands. Leonie led Byleth into her tent, whispering so low that Claude could not make out the words. The rest of the class watched on with worried faces. “None of you would happen to know any healing spells, would you? Without Marianne—“

“I know a minor healing spell,” Lysithea offered, jumping up from the log she was sitting on. “It’s not much, but—“

“It’s better than nothing,” Claude said with a smile. “Go see to Teach, make sure she’s okay.” Lysithea nodded. She followed Leonie and Byleth into the tent. Everyone else watched Claude intently, and he pretended not to notice. He took a seat by the fire and poked at it with a stick from off the ground. Leonie returned outside and sat beside him, followed by Ignatz.

“We won,” Ignatz said weakly, his eyes also focused on the fire. “We should be celebrating. Instead, I feel like my heart is heavy. . .”

“If we hadn’t done what we did, the rebel army would have followed this road all the way to the monastery. And they would have crushed all the little villages along the way. We stopped that from happening. You should be proud,” Claude told him. His voice sounded dry and his words rehearsed, even to himself. He was tempted to make a joke to lighten the mood, but in truth his own mood was soured, as well.

“Well put,” Sylvain said, taking a seat across from him at the fire. Claude looked up, expecting that usual jackass smirk to be on his face, but Sylvain looked just as somber as the rest of them.

One by one, the soldiers accompanied by Catherine trickled into the campground. They seemed in better spirits, though not by much. They chatted silently with one another, but there was no joy or laughter heard in their tones. As they made camp surrounding the students, Catherine walked toward the Golden Deer. “Where is Professor Byleth? I thought she came down with you guys.”

“She did,” Claude answered. “She’s in her tent resting.” He thought it wise to leave out the part about her nearly fainting in his arms. No telling what would be reported back to Lady Rhea.

“I see,” Catherine said, her tone calculating. She looked towards Byleth’s tent. “When she wakes up, I need to speak with her about something urgent.” Claude wondered if she was considering going in anyway to shake her awake. Nonetheless, she bowed her head then returned to her soldiers without another word.

“What was that about? She didn’t even stay for dinner!” Raphael exclaimed. He himself was already finishing up his second plate.

“She’s probably busy, as most knights are,” Lorenz grumbled. Claude ignored them both. He was worried about Byleth. The death of Lord Lonato seemed to take more than just an emotional toll on her. And the way she had talked about trying to stop him, as if it were specifically her responsibility, was thick with sincerity. Claude could not understand why she would feel the weight of his death so personally.

He shook the thought away. Most likely, he was just tired and overthinking things.

They were all tired.

One by one, Claude’s classmates finished their food and retired in their tents. The sky darkened and the fire weakened, but still Claude stayed where he was, watching the embers grow dim.

“You are struggling to sleep?” Petra asked. Claude’s body jolted.

“Gods,” he said. “I did not realize you were still out here.” He looked up and found that no one was sitting around him. Not even Petra. He heard her laughter low in his ear.

“I see you struggle to be finding me,” she said, amusement in her tone. Claude heard a thud behind him and whipped around.

“Were you. . .” Claude began. “Were you in the tree this whole time?”

“I do not have understanding why you people of Fódlan sleep on the ground,” Petra said. She walked around Claude and sat beside him, tossing a log onto the fire. “It is much more safe to sleep in the tree’s top.”

Claude smiled weakly. “Your logic is sound, I’ll give you that. But I’m afraid I’m not much of a climber.”

Petra frowned. “I have not known a noble here who can climb trees. Is this a weakness of sorts?”

“I don’t know if I would go that far.”

“Then why are you not knowing how to climb trees?” There was a gleam in her eyes, that Claude could only interpret as mischief.

“This might sounds like an excuse, but we don’t have a lot of tall trees where I grew up.”

“But there are tall trees all over Fódlan,” Petra protested.

“I didn’t grow up here. This land is all new to me, as it is to you, I’m sure.”

“I thought you were a noble of Fódlan,” Petra said, her eyebrows furrowed. “I am not understanding.”

“My mother is from Fódlan, but my father is not. I was raised in his homeland.”

“Oh, okay,” Petra said weakly. She drew her legs in and rested her chest on her knees.

“Cold?” Claude asked. Petra nodded. Claude took off his cloak and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said. She wrapped the cloak around her body then looked back at Claude. “You are a great warrior, by the way. I have much admiration for your skill.”

“Right back at ya,” Claude said with a smile. “I’m sorry that you had to help us on such a shitty mission.”

“Shitty. . .” Petra repeated. “I do not know this word.”

“A bad mission. . . Worse than bad,” Claude said, not sure he wanted to explain the exact context of the word to her.

“Hmm,” Petra said, nodding her head. She hugged her legs tighter to her body. “Everyone seems so sad. Even you. And I am never seeing you without a smile on your face at the officer’s academy.”

“You say that like you see me all the time.”

“I think most girls are seeing you more than you are seeing them.” As if she realized what she just said, Petra immediately jumped up. “I must be going to sleep. Goodnight, Claude.” She started to remove his cloak, but Claude raised a hand to stop her.

“You can give that back to me tomorrow. Keep it for the night, stay warm.”

“Thank you,” Petra murmured. She turned away with hastened steps, then stopped suddenly. “Claude?” she said.

“Yes, Petra?”

Petra clutched his cloak tighter. “All battles are. . . Shitty, as you say. But your words to your friend earlier rang truth in my ears. If the time came, I would be honored to assist you with a mission again.” She walked away before Claude could reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petra is baby and I’ve been dying to bring her into the story. You will be seeing more of her in the future!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude returns to Garreg Mach, where he is informed that he may be a step closer to discovering the identity of the person out for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been uploading on Mondays so far, but starting next week, I’ll be uploading on Sundays instead. I always end up pre-editing over the weekend anyway. And this means you’ll have one less day to wait for chapter 7! Yay!

The next morning was cold, but at least there was no fog. Claude was awake before the rest of his classmates—or rather, he had not been able to sleep the night before—so he took it upon himself to start breakfast. Raphael was the first to leave his tent, no doubt woken up by the smell of bacon.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” he yawned. Claude smiled and handed him a plate.

“I am nothing if not a man of mystery.”

Raphael grunted in reply, a faint smile on his face. He took the food gratefully and sat down. Out next were Leonie and Ignatz, followed by Lysithea, then Sylvain, then Petra, then Lorenz. Claude doubted Hilda would be out of her tent for a while. He kept looking towards Byleth’s tent. She was usually the first one awake in the group. Why was she still in her tent? Once Claude had served the rest of his companions, he made a plate for himself and for her, then walked over to her tent.

“Knock, knock,” Claude said at the opening.

“Come in,” a muffled voice said on the other side.

Claude moved the tent flap with his elbow, trying to balance the plates, and ducked under to walk in. Byleth was standing by her cot, fastening on her armor. “Oh, is it breakfast time already?” she asked.

“Yeah, pretty much everyone has already started eating,” Claude said. He handed her a plate, then sat on the cot. “How are you feeling today?” he asked as he picked at a piece of bacon.

Byleth sat beside him. She took a bite of her own food before replying. “Better,” she said. “I’m not as down as yesterday. I must have just needed to sleep.”

“That’s good,” Claude said. “I think the battle yesterday left a foul taste in everyone’s mouth.” Byleth nodded, but said nothing. Her eyes were staring into empty space. Hoping to cheer her up, Claude continued, “Did you see how Catherine fought yesterday?”

“I did,” Byleth replied. She did not look up from her plate. “She is incredible.”

“Agreed. I thought the power of the Heroes’ Relics must be exaggerated, but I was clearly wrong.” Claude hummed to himself. “Makes you wonder about that legend. . .”

“What legend?” Byleth asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

_Aha_, Claude thought. _So Teach is into mysterious legends._ “Oh, it’s nothing. Just the usual fanciful nonsense.” Byleth leaned in closer, and Claude smiled. His ploy to distract her was working. “Supposedly, there’s an ancient relic that once cut a mountain in half with a single swing. That’s what they say, anyway.”

“Do you think that relic could be Thunderbrand?” Byleth asked.

“As amazing as Thunderbrand is, I don’t think it fits that description.”

“So, you think that there exists a weapon out there more powerful than Thunderbrand? That sounds dangerous. What if a thief were to stumble upon such a thing in a cave somewhere? They could conquer the world!”

“Apparently, it’s not that simple,” Claude explained. Byleth was more invested than he expected. How had she gone so long without learning any of this? “Relics can harness tremendous power. . . for those with a compatible crest. Though you can technically use a relic as long as you have any crest at all. . .” He felt himself beginning to ramble, and wondered how he could get himself to backtrack naturally.

“Are you talking about relics?” Hilda asked, walking into the tent. _Or I can use the power of a pink-haired noble_. Claude knew getting Hilda on a new subject would be easier than Byleth. She sat on the cot and slung her legs over Claude’s lap, then started picking food off of his plate. Byleth looked less than impressed, but she said nothing. “You’ll be able to use one soon, Claude, won’t you?” Hilda asked, acting as if nothing about her behavior was strange. Claude would have flushed if her actions weren’t to his advantage. “After all, you’ve already been selected as the next head of House Riegan!”

“Easy there, Hilda,” Claude said. He pushed her off of his lap, snorting as she struggled to catch herself before falling. “My grandfather is still unbearably healthy, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to wield the family relic until after he passes.” He turned to Byleth, who had a puzzled look on her face.

“I won’t pretend to be an expert on nobility and the laws of inheritance,” she began, “but don’t titles usually pass on from parent to child, not grandchild?”

“Yes, but my uncle passed away. He was initially meant to inherit my grandfather’s title, but he. . . Is this news to you, Teach?” He could have sworn it had come up in conversation at least once over the last few months, but to Claude’s surprise, Byleth nodded her head.

“I knew you were heir to the Riegan dukedom, but I know nothing about the surrounding circumstances.” Byleth shrugged. “Why would I?”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Claude admitted. “Mercenaries and politics don’t tend to overlap often. . . Well, then, allow me to clarify: Yours truly was recognized as a legitimate child of House Riegan about a year ago.”

“That recently?” Byleth asked. She blinked. “Are you a bastard?”

“No!” Claude exclaimed, which sent Hilda into fits of laughter. Claude dramatically clutched his hand to his heart. “Teach, you wound me. My parents were happily married well before I came into the world!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Byleth said. “It was the first thought in my head. But I still do not understand why you only recently became legitimized?”

“I was raised by my father,” Claude began. Hilda was listening intently. He would have to choose his words carefully. This wasn’t the tangent he had hoped she would lead him on. “House Riegan is on my mother’s side of the family. I didn’t learn about that until shortly before my uncle passed.”

“So that means your mother is Duke Riegan’s daughter, right?” Hilda asked. Her tone was innocent, but her eyes were intent. “Where is she now?”

“I can’t say,” Claude told her, making sure to emphasize each word. “My mother’s currently living in a different world than the one she grew up in and has no desire to return home.”

“Why does your answer have to be so cryptic?” Hilda asked. She fluttered her eyelashes at Claude, who in turn made an effort not to roll his eyes as he smiled at her.

“I’m just keeping a promise to my parents. Make of that whatever you will,” Claude replied. “In exchange for being cryptic, as you say, I’m free to do as I please, which is why I decided to see what the other side of my family was like.” He conveniently left out the parts about his grandfather allowing him to live in Fódlan under very strict, specific conditions, and how he was more interested in learning about the power of his crest than he was in learning what kind of man his grandfather was. The handful of months Claude had spent living with the man before enrolling in the officer’s academy taught him everything he wanted to know. He was hardly the sort of person Claude enjoyed being around.

“Professor,” a voice called. Catherine stepped into the tent. “Sorry to intrude, but I need to speak with you.” She took a moment to look at Claude and Hilda pointedly.

“I should be going,” Hilda murmured, brushing off her clothes and excusing herself out of the tent. Claude made no effort to move.

“Claude has my trust,” Byleth said. “Go on.”

Catherine looked between Claude and Byleth, then nodded her head. She pulled a piece of paper out from under her armor. “The incident from yesterday may be more serious than we realized. I found this on Lord Lonato last night. I wanted to tell you about it earlier, but you were. . . Predisposed.” She handed the paper to Byleth. “It’s a note that mentions a plan to assassinate Lady Rhea. We can’t tell who sent it, so the source is suspect, but the content is too disturbing to ignore. We must report this to Lady Rhea right away. I hope that it’s nothing, but. . .”

“But it’s better to expect the worst, than to be underprepared,” Byleth finished. Catherine nodded. “Ride up ahead to give Lady Rhea the news. We’ll be right behind you.”

Catherine bowed and left the tent, leaving Byleth and Claude alone in the silence. “So. . . A death threat,” Claude said.

“Seems like there’s a lot of those going around lately,” Byleth said bitterly.

“One or two,” Claude agreed. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

The edge of Byleth’s mouth twitched upward. “I surely hope that is true, Claude.” He nodded, and they sat in silence once more. Claude did not like it. It gave him too much time to think.

“Shall we start packing up camp?”

“I suppose we should. No sense in delaying it.” Claude rose to leave, taking his and Byleth’s plates in the process. “One more thing before you go—“ Claude paused, looking back at Byleth.

“Sure. What is it, Teach?”

Byleth sat for a moment, seeming to struggle with her next words. “Is there. . . something going on between you and Hilda?”

“What?” Claude said with a laugh.

“Because it seemed to me that—“

“_No_, no!” Claude emphasized. “We just. . . I’m quickly learning that flirting is closely tied to her sense of humor.”

“She was trying to be funny by sitting on your lap?”

“It’s complicated, I’ll admit,” Claude said quickly. “But our relationship is strictly platonic. I promise.”

“I see,” Byleth said carefully. “Well, that makes my job easier. I didn’t want to have to give you a talk about intimate relations with your classmates.”

“Teach, please,” Claude begged teasingly. Byleth looked at him with a hint of a smile on her face.

“I’ll pack up in here then meet you out there. Tell the others to prepare to leave.”

The journey back to the monastery was relatively quiet. Claude’s mind was too preoccupied for him to socialize with his classmates. He wondered about the note laying out the plans to assassinate Rhea. Something about it didn’t sit right with him, though he could not place his finger on why. Part of his brain told him that it was because he was dealing with his own attempted assassination, but the rest of his brain knew better. After all, Claude’s plan was already set in motion. He was getting close to finding answers. All he needed was a report from Nad to get things moving.

The clopping of hooves alerted Claude that someone was approaching him. He looked to his left and saw Petra smiling up at him From her horse. “We are almost at the monastery,” she said to him.

“So it would seem,” Claude replied with a grin.

“I am glad to be talking with you before we arrive, for I have something I must be speaking to you about.”

“Oh?” Claude asked. He kept the smile on his face, though he was hardly in the mood for it.

“I am. . . Feeling some embarrassment after last night. What I said to you. . .”

Claude dropped the polite smile and furrowed his brow. “What, the tree climbing thing?”

“No. . . After. About you being. . . Noticed by the girls at the academy.”

“Oh,” Claude said flatly. Had she not brought it up, he likely never would have thought about it again. Now, his face was beginning to fee warm. “Well, hey, you know. . .” he stammered. “We all say things we don’t mean sometimes.”

“I did not say that I was not meaning it. Just that I was not meaning to say it. . . to you.” Petra grunted, throwing her head back. “Let us be starting over. I have interest in you, Claude, and I think that I would like to be your friend. . . Can we be friends?”

“Of course we can,” Claude laughed. “Why would I say no to that?”

“No matter. You say we are friends, and that is what I find mattering.” Petra smiled. She looked ahead and pointed towards the sky. “You can see the towers just ahead. I must be speaking with Edelgard about our mission. I will be seeing you! Hyahh!” Petra urged her horse onward and rode ahead of the group. Claude found himself smiling after her. Petra was. . . A unique individual at Garreg Mach.

But Claude liked unique.

“Knock knock,” Hilda said, opening the door to Claude’s room.

“One sec!” Claude called. He was in the middle of pulling on a fresh shirt now that they were finally back from their mission. Claude had debated on going to the bathhouse, but it was always crowded in the evenings, which made it hard to relax. Once he was fully dressed, he pulled the door open for Hilda. “What’s up? Do you need something from me?”

“Not necessarily,” Hilda hummed. She took a seat on Claude’s bed, ignoring the stacks of books that took up most of the space. “I just wanted to let you know that I learned a little something about you. Why you’ve been acting off lately, didn’t want to go out dancing. . .” Her smile was smug.

Claude gulped. Surely, Byleth would not have told her about the death threats. But how else would she know? “I’m not sure I follow,” Claude laughed, forcing a smile.

Hilda stroked one of the books on his bed, pretending to be occupied by the title. “Petra seems nice,” she said absently. “It seems like the two of you were getting along with each other during our trip.”

“Petra?” Claude asked. Now he genuinely didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Claude, please. I woke up in the middle of the night last night because I heard you two talking. I saw you snuggling by the campfire, her wearing your cloak—“

“She was cold,” Claude argued. “I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why does she still have it?”

Claude looked around the room and cursed silently as he realized she was right: Petra never returned his cloak. And an old pendant that had belonged to his uncle was fastened to it. _Gramps will kill me if anything happens to that damn pendant._

“Look,” Hilda continued. “I totally get why you would want to keep your romance with her a secret. She’s practically Edelgard’s right-hand man—well, woman, since Hubert has the whole ‘man’ part covered—and everyone knows Edelgard isn’t very fond of you. I would make the exact same decision if I was you.” She stood up and swung her arms back and forth in a cocky manner. “I just want you to admit that I was right: you were keeping a secret. And I found it out. Meaning I win.”

Claude sighed. There was nothing to win, but he knew Hilda enough to understand there was no point in arguing with her once she had something firm in her brain. And he had other things to do that would be much easier to deal with once she was gone. So, Claude flashed Hilda his award-winning smile and said, “you’re right, Hilda. You discovered my secret. And I would _really_ appreciate it if this stayed between me and you for the time being.”

“I suppose I can keep a secret,” Hilda said.

Claude bent down and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best, Hilda.”

“Ugh. Save that for your new girlfriend,” Hilda teased. Claude’s smile felt more forced. She turned to leave the room, but stopped by the door. “I ran into the professor on my way up here. She said she wants to see you about next month’s mission. . .” She drummed her fingers against the doorway. “Are you going down to see her?”

“In a minute. I need to take care of a few things first.”

Hilda nodded. “Well personally, I’m beat. I don’t know how you could possibly have the energy for anything after the last few days we’ve had.” She yawned. “So I’m going to take a nap. See ya.”

“See ya,” Claude replied. He watched Hilda as she left the room. Once she was out of sight, he scrambled for a spare change of clothes and shoved them in a bag. He would be sleeping in Nad’s quarters again that night. The situation was cramped, but it was for the best. Only a few nights prior, when Claude had gone to his room to retrieve a book, another note folded like a wyvern was sitting on his desk.

_You cannot hide forever_.

That made three notes in total. Claude assumed this one meant his killer was trying to find where he was sleeping at night, though he doubted he would be discovered. He and Nad had been extra careful about not being seen together in daylight. Claude only saw the man when he snuck into his room to sleep. Regardless, those days were hopefully numbered. There were only a few finishing touches for Claude’s plan to work. 

Claude rushed to the soldiers quarters, where Nad was supposed to meet him. Yet when he arrived, the only men in there were the weapons instructor, Jeritza, and Byleth’s father, Jeralt. They were sitting by the fireplace, chatting quietly with one another. Claude immediately turned around, hoping to leave before he was spotted. Both of those men terrified him.

“Claude, isn’t it?” Jeralt called, halting him in his tracks. “You’re one of my daughter’s students.”

“Yes, sir!” Claude beamed, turning back to face him. A stream of _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ ran through his mind. “I’m the house leader for the Golden Deer. The two of you saved my life on the day that we met.”

“That’s right,” Jeralt said flatly. He has a glass in his hand, but it was empty. “Why don’t you come join us for a while? Jeritza here is not much for conversation.”

“Hmm,” Jeritza scoffed. He watched Claude intently as he sat down beside the fireplace, keeping his bag on his shoulder. Claude had the odd sense that Jeritza was calculating something. It was hard to tell when he wore that ridiculous mask all the time.

“So tell me, Claude,” Jeralt began again. “How is Byleth doing as a professor here at the monastery?”

“To be frank, sir,” Claude began, earning a strange look from Jeralt, “she’s doing wonderful. She is motivating, intelligent, quick, cunning. I’m proud to call her my teacher.”

“Funny,” Jeralt said. “I was unaware that my daughter had half of those qualities.”

Claude furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

Jeralt bent down and picked up a bottle of a hard-smelling alcohol from some hidden place under his chair. He poured himself another glass, then offered some to Jeritza, who took a swig. When Jeralt offered the bottle to Claude, he politely declined. “Smart boy,” Jeralt said with a sly grin. Claude began to wonder if this whole interaction was a test in some way. “To answer your question, Byleth has always been a. . ._quiet_ person, even as a little girl. I have always known her to be smart and capable. But she has never been much in the personality department.”

“Probably something she inherited from you,” Jeritza muttered. Jeralt laughed and slapped his knee.

“I suppose that’s true. I didn’t exactly provide an easy life for the child.”

“Byleth told me that she grew up without a mother, so she was essentially raised by you as a mercenary, correct?” Claude asked. Jeralt looked like he was about to choke on his drink.

“She told you that?”

“Yeah,” Claude said hesitantly. “Why? Is it not true?”

“Oh, it’s definitely true,” Jeralt replied. “She started joining me on jobs when she was very young. Probably about ten years ago, if I had to make a guess.”

“Then why did you seem shocked just now?”

“I guess I didn’t realize how personable Byleth was with you br—students.”

“You say that like your daughter has never had friends.”

“Oh, so it’s _friends_ now,” Jeralt muttered, taking another drink. Jeritza was watching Claude intently, his lip curled into the slightest snarl.

“Did I say something wrong?” Claude asked. Jeralt scared him shitless, but he knew the guy liked someone with spine. He wasn’t going to shrivel away now that they were sitting beside each other.

Jeralt smirked at him, just the slightest tilt upward from the corner of his mouth. Now Claude knew where Byleth got it from. “You didn’t,” Jeralt admitted. “Forgive an old man for his harsh tone, I guess I use it out of habit at this point. The truth is, kid, I’m a little jealous. I might not seem like it, but _I _have a heartbeat. I’m ultimately glad you kids are close to her, though. If she’s happy, so am I.” He paused for a minute and frowned. “Jeritza, you bastard, you got me drunk.”

“You did that to yourself, fool.” Jeritza stood up, his eyes never leaving Claude. _What is with this guy?_ “Excuse me, it is time for my nightly training.” He left with a stiff back, leaving Jeralt and Claude alone in the room. Jeralt said nothing further to him, and Claude was content with that. He needed to figure out where Nad was. He looked around the empty room, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement, but there was no one.

“Am I boring you, boy?” Jeralt asked. Claude looked back at him.

“Oh. Uh, no. I was just supposed to meet someone here. He’s late.”

“Another student?” Jeralt asked.

“A soldier, actually,” Claude said. “From my battalion.”

“Oh. Do you mean Nad?”

“You know him?”

“He comes in here rather frequently, so we’re acquainted. Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen the guy’s face before.” Jeralt gave Claude a pointed look. “He has quite the distinctive voice, though. I have traveled across every inch of Fódlan and never heard an accent like his.” Claude shrugged, not sure what he could say that would not raise Jeralt’s suspicions. The guy was more shrewd than Claude initially gave him credit for. “If you’re looking for him, I would check the stables. I sent him on an errand a few minutes before you walked in. Sorry. Would have gone myself if I knew he was supposed to meet with you.”

“Not a problem. I can head over there now.” Claude rose to leave.

“Oh, kid?” Jeralt said.

“Yeah?”

Jeralt furrowed his brow. “. . . You know what? Never mind. I won’t keep you here.”

“If you insist,” Claude said, but he did not give Jeralt the chance to change his mind again. He was out the door and heading for the stables.

Nad was easy to spot, even with his helmet on. He was head and shoulders taller than most of the other soldiers, with a thick build and a confident stature. Claude approached him as he was finishing a conversation with one of the stable workers. He pretended to brush one of the horses, so anyone passing by would not know they were speaking with one another.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Nad whispered to Claude. He was whittling a piece of wood as he spoke. “Captain Jeralt—“

“No need to explain, I spoke with him in the soldier’s quarters. Should we head back that way?”

“Might as well talk here,” Nad said. “Most of the workers are gone, and it will look less conspicuous. We usually don’t meet so out in the open.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Claude admitted.

Nad kept his eyes on his work as he continued. “How did your mission go?”

“Successful, yet terrible.” He patted the horse’s flank. “I’m not really in the mood to say more than that.”

Nad nodded knowingly. “War is terrible, kiddo. It isn’t like the stories, where the good guys win and the bad guys lose, and everything is glory and victory and honor. Most of the time it’s just a bunch of selfish, greedy men forcing boys to go off and kill each other for their own gain.” He chuckled darkly. ”But this is all stuff I’ve told you before.”

“I know,” Claude sighed. “But this was the first time that I got to be the pawn in someone else’s game.”

Nad grunted in agreement. The two fell silent as a servant girl walked past. She glanced at Claude and blushed, then walked quickly on her way. Nad seemed amused. “Girls seem to like you better here.”

“Only because they don’t know who I am. Well—they know _half_ of who I am.”

“You’re not letting the attention get to your head, are you?”

“I’m way too busy to think about girls,” Claude said with a low laugh. “You can ask me again after we take care of my would-be assassin.”

“Ah, speaking of that. . .” Nad pulled a piece of paper out from his pocket and sneakily handed it to Claude. “I’ve been doing what you said, and looking out for people who have a knack for folding paper.” Claude held the thing delicately in his hands. It was folded in a manner that gave it the shape of a bird in flight.

“You think this was made by the same person?” Claude asked. He was trying to keep his voice calm, but on the inside he felt a burning rage. He was _so_ close. His nightmare would end soon.

“I think it’s likely. You and I have been looking for weeks and this is the only clue we’ve gotten.”

Claude handed the paper bird back to Nad. “So who made it?”

“A kid in the Blue Lions house. I saw him making one during lunch and asked if he would make one for me. He happily agreed, said he makes paper animals for people all the time.”

“That seems far too cheery for an assassin,” Claude pointed out.

Nad shrugged. “Sometimes enemies hide in plain sight. It’s harder to see something when it’s right in front of you. He also could be a knife for hire. We’ve seen younger children do it.”

Claude nodded, recalling the time an “orphan” wandered into his family’s stables asking Claude for food, only to attack him when he stepped closer to help her. “Could you point the guy out if you saw him again?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s have lunch tomorrow. The three of us.”

Nad raised an eyebrow. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claude said with a wink.

Nad groaned and started cursing in their native tongue. “Fine. I’ll sit next to the kid when I see him. Then you can join us. If I’m between two people, I’ll find a way to point out who it is.”

“You always were the clever one,” Claude said. He put the brush away and stroked the horse’s nose. “I’ll meet you later. I just remembered I forgot something in my room.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nad replied. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Claude walked back, trying to keep a casual pace. If this kid was truly the assassin they were looking for, he was going to pay.

He was going to _fucking_ pay.

But his identity brought more questions than answers to Claude’s mind. Why would he be after Claude, for example? That was a big one. It couldn’t be political. Last Claude checked, there was no animosity between the Leicester Alliance and Faergus. At least none that warranted murder of the next leader. So was it personal? Claude hardly interacted with anyone from Faergus. There was Dimitri, of course, but that was only during formal events, where all three house leaders stood together to represent unity of the continent. Or competed to see who would be the strongest in battle. You know. . . usual kid stuff. Then there was Sylvain, who was technically now a Golden Deer. Claude was barely over that. And of course, if he was going to think of Sylvain, he had to remember Felix as well.

And Ingrid.

_Ingrid? _Claude thought, struggling to call a face to mind. He had a vague idea of who she was. A pretty blonde girl who also grew up with Dimitri, if Claude remembered correctly. But why did Claude think of her? They had hardly ever spoken. Claude got an earful from her for napping an afternoon away about a week or so ago, but that was it.

Yet, he had this sense that he had an emotional connection with her. Like they had a deep talk once. . . But that wasn’t possible. Claude had not had much time for hanging out with the other students, let alone having deep conversations with them. The only person he had opened up to since arriving in Fódlan was, well, Byleth.

Claude had a strong sensation of deja vu. He realize this was nearly identical to the feeling he had a month prior, when he was convinced that Marianne had died in his arms, despite seeing her alive and unharmed in front of him. Was he going mad?

Unlikely, but not impossible.

Claude decided to chalk it up to stress for the time being, as he did not want to deal with anything else until his would-be killer was found and taken care of.

Claude entered his room, picking up books and reading the titles before putting them back down again. _Where is that book?_ Claude asked himself. Maybe it _would_ be a good idea to return some of the tomes to the library, after all. . .

After several minutes, he found the text on poisons that he was looking for. He opened up to the page he had dog-eared and started reading. The number of ingredients he needed were few, fortunately. A stomach ache was not hard to create. Now, timing was a bigger issue. If the kid immediately ran into the bathroom after eating with Claude, people would suspect that he had done something to his food without hesitation. Such was the curse of a renowned schemer. But this one poison used ingredients that took a couple of days to fully digest, making it perfect for the occasion.

The ingredients were already stored in Claude’s room. It was astounding, the things a guy could find in a church’s greenhouse. A swipe here, and a pocketed item there, and Claude had enough plants and herbs for an apothecary. He took everything out, shoving books to the side of his desk to make enough room to work. Grind this, squeeze that, mix it all together, and. . .

“What are you doing?”

“Gah!” Claude exclaimed. He turned around, and Byleth was leaning against the door frame, a stern look on her face. She had changed from her armor into her academy uniform since the last time he saw her. “Oh, hey, Teach.”

“You were supposed to meet with me half an hour ago,” Byleth said.

“Oh, shit. I mean—sorry. Time got away from me. He turned back to his desk. There was no way he could leave everything out. If someone came in. . . “Hold on a minute, okay? I wanna put this all away.”

“Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”

She sounded more curious than upset, so Claude figured there was no point in lying to her. “I’m in the middle of mixing a poison.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Claude smiled. He handed her the finished vial before putting away the remaining herbs. “What do you think of that, Teach? A colorless, odorless poison.” Byleth held the vial up to the light. “Care to test it out?” Claude teased.

“Sure,” Byleth said. She touched the bottle to her lips and tipped it back before Claude could stop her. He stumbled forward scrambling for the bottle.

“Are you crazy?!” he exclaimed. Byleth’s eyes lit up as she held the bottle just out of his grasp. She handed the bottle back to him, and he realized it was still full. Byleth wiggled her thumb so he could see the faint red circle where it had been pressed against the rim. Claude chuckled.

“I never took you to be the prankster type.”

“I’m learning quickly. It’s easy with a good teacher,” Byleth said. She wiped her thumb off on her shirt. “Though, your reaction has piqued my interest. I wouldn’t have died, would I?”

“Nothing of the sort. I wouldn’t have offered it to you even in jest if that were the case,” Claude assured her. He put a cork on the bottle. “If you had drunken it, in two days’ time you would have terrible, umm. . . Let’s call it stomach trouble.”

Byleth frowned at him. “Two days. . . So you won’t be a suspect if people at the church suddenly start getting poisoned?” Byleth guessed.

“Teach, _naturally_ I have no immediate plans for this stuff! I’ve been studying poisons for years, and I like to try brewing new ones every few months to keep my knowledge fresh.”

Byleth looked unconvinced. “Does this have to do with the death threats?” she asked.

Claude smirked. “There’s really no getting around you, is there?”

“I began getting worried that you had something colorful up your sleeves when you stopped talking with me about it a couple weeks ago,” Byleth said. She crossed her arms. “I’ve learned by now that you aren’t a big fan of the direct approach.”

Claude frowned, though he doubted that Byleth was trying to insult him. He turned to his desk and finished putting everything away before answering her. “When devising schemes,” he began, “it’s best to have as many options at your disposal as possible. You are right that I have a purpose for it now, but I was being serious when I said I’ve studied poisons prior to this. I guess you could call it a hobby of mine.”

“Why such a dangerous hobby?” Byleth asked. She sat on Claude’s bed, and Claude sat on his desk chair.

“Well,” Claude sighed, thinking his next words over carefully, “I grew up in an environment where it was necessary to think that way. It’s like I told you before, I wasn’t born into a life of luxury.” Byleth leaned forward, encouraging Claude to continue. “Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been seen as. . . Different from those around me. I’ve been resented and hated, to the point where there have even been attempts on my life.”

Byleth’s eyes widened. “You mean. . . The death threats you have received here. . . They’re not the first?”

Claude shook his head. “Far from it.”

“Why?”

_Why, indeed_, Claude thought to himself. He debated on telling her the answer. The _true_ answer. But how could he? As separated from the rest of Fódlan as Byleth seemed to be, she was a still mercenary. She was bound to know some things about the world. To have fought in battles. . .

Against. . .

“I don’t believe I’ve earned such treatment,” Claude said. “But that’s how it goes for people like me. For outsiders like me.”

“I don’t think of you as an outsider.”

Claude looked into Byleth’s eyes and knew she meant it. It made him feel comforted, in a way that he had not felt since arriving at Garreg Mach. He smiled. “Thanks, Teach. I disagree with you, but I appreciate the sentiment. I _am_ an outsider, have been since birth.”

“Is that why you decided to come to your mother’s homeland? Did you hope it would be better here?”

_Oh, boy._ It was an innocent enough question without context. But Claude still had to collect his thoughts before answering. Dancing around topics that Claude would rather avoid seemed to be a growing habit of his when he was around Byleth. “I’m not sure if I thought it would be better so much as I thought I could make more of a difference here.”

“Because you’re of nobility in the Alliance?” Byleth asked. Claude chuckled at her blunt question. “Sorry, I guess that came off a little shallow.”

“No, no. You’re not far from the truth,” Claude assured her. He was technically nobility back home as well, but the rules his father’s people played by were entirely different. “I. . . have more of a voice here, I guess you could say. I don’t have to lick my wounds now and plot my revenge from a distance like I did as a kid. Old habits die hard, though.” He wiggled the bottle of poison as an example.

“Where were your parents in all of this?”

A snarl crossed Claude’s lips at the thought of them. He quickly turned it into a nonchalant grin and a shrug for Byleth’s benefit. “My parents told me that I wouldn’t grow stronger if I didn’t learn to fight my own battles. And so, in the end, I did. And I grew up to be as independent and self-reliant as my parents always wished for me to be.” His teasing tone quickly turned sarcastic against his will. “Lucky me, right?”

“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” Byleth said. “I wouldn’t call that luck so much as resilience.” She had a sad look in her eyes, a look that knew more than Claude was comfortable with. The longer he looked at her, though, Claude began to wonder if it was more a reflection on what he was telling her or her own experiences.

“If anyone knows what I’m talking about it must be you. Eh, Teach? You didn’t exactly have a normal childhood, either.”

“I suppose not,” Byleth sighed. “I wouldn’t say I was affected in the same way as you, but the longer I’m here at Garreg Mach, the more aware I am of how different my upbringing was compared to the children here.”

“Children?” Claude repeated, a sly grin on his face.

“Apologies,” Byleth said, a teasing glint in her eye. “Would you prefer it if I referred to you as ‘bright and flourishing young adults’?”

“Nah, it’s way too stiff.”

“Well, those are your only two options until you graduate, so you better get used to it, kid.”

Claude laughed. “Tell me something, Teach. What was your childhood like?”

Byleth suddenly seemed lost in thought, clenching the side of Claude’s bed as she stared at the wall in front of her. “Is it bad if I say I hardly remember? I mean, I remember _some_ things, of course. I remember my father. I remember loud men and women always clapping me on the shoulder or patting my head, telling me how small I was. I don’t remember any children. I don’t think I was ever around people my age until a handful of years ago. . . I remember picking up my first sword, asking—no, begging—my father to teach me how to fight. I wanted to be like him so bad.” Her eyes seemed to look through the wall into a world beyond time or space. “I think that’s the only feeling that ever colors my memories. The desire to please him. . . I never really felt lonely, or angry, or sad. . . or happy. I never had any reason to. Except when I was with him.”

“Does your father know that?” Claude asked, thinking of the conversation he had with Jeralt just that afternoon. Byleth shook her head.

“I doubt it,” she admitted. “I’ve never been the best at expressing emotions, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“I can think of a time or two that I’ve seen a glimpse of humanity peak through your stony exterior,” Claude teased. “But you’re right, it is rare.”

“Is that bad?” Byleth asked. She was looking Claude intently in the eye, as if trying to guess his answer before he gave it.

“I don’t think so,” Claude said. “You’re so collected and level-headed. I think in many cases, that’s what makes you a great leader.”

“Really?” Byleth asked. “Because I always thought a good leader looked more like you.”

“Come on, Teach. Now you’re just pulling my leg.”

“I’m being serious,” Byleth said. Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “A good leader puts their people in front of themselves. They care for the model citizen and the outsider alike, make everyone feel like family. . . In the last several weeks, I have seen this and more in you.”

Claude looked into Byleth’s eyes, feeling more gratitude than he could put into words. He smiled at her, warmth touching his cheeks. “Thinking a slimy schemer like me is a good leader. . . You’re an interesting one, Teach. I’ll give you that.”

“I’m glad that someone thinks so,” Byleth said absently.

The bell chimed the time, and the pair looked out toward the sound. “It’s getting late. I should be going back to see Nad soon.“

”You’re still sleeping in his room?”

”I haven’t caught my killer, have I?”

Byleth glared at his question, then shrugged as she rose from his bed. “Right, I don’t want to keep you longer than necessary—Oh! Though I did come up here with a purpose. I can’t believe I nearly forgot.”

“Oh, yeah. You wanted to talk about our next mission, right?”

“Yes,” Byleth said. “I’ll be brief. All three houses have the same mission this month.”

“That’s new, at least,” Claude said.

“You know that letter we found on Lord Lonato? The one about the plot to assassinate Lady Rhea?”

“How could I forget?” Claude asked, his voice strained. “It hits a little too close to home at the moment.”

“This may hit a little harder, then: we are all tasked with guarding her. The assassination is apparently supposed to take place during a ceremony called the Rite of Rebirth. People travel from all around the continent to witness the ceremony, so it will be easy for an assassin to sneak in. Or several of them, for that matter. More than the knights could possibly handle.”

“So we basically have to make sure the ceremony goes off without a hitch?”

“More or less,” Byleth sighed. It seemed like there was more to it, but Byleth only shook her head, a mildly agitated look on her face. “We have an entire month to prepare, as usual. So don’t worry about all the details tonight. I know you have to go to—hmm, sorry. What’s the name of your friend from the battalion again?”

“He goes by Nad,” Claude answered.

“Nad,” Byleth repeated. “I won’t make you keep him waiting.” She stretched her arms. “Just promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Let me know if you need any help with your current scheme. I meant it when I said I was here for you.”

“I know,” Claude assured her. “And I’m grateful. But let me be the one to get my hands dirty. This is _my_ issue ultimately. When I have a full grasp on who my enemy is here, I’ll let you know.”

Byleth sighed. “Fine. But I’ll hold you to it. No going around my back.” She turned and walked out the door. “I’ll see you in class,” she called from the hall.

Claude grinned to himself as he watched her leave. Byleth intrigued him. For as stoic as she was, he got the impression that she genuinely cared about his well-being. Not only that, but it was almost as if she wanted his approval, at times. He reflected on the way she had looked at him when she asked if her unemotional demeanor was a bad thing to him, the roundness of her eyes, how she leaned forward, her full lips parted ever so slightly like—

Claude shook his head, burying his head in his hands. _What are you thinking?!_ He complained to himself. He could feel his ears growing hot. _No matter how young she is, she’s still your teacher. Pull it together!_ Claude groaned, rubbing his temples. But sitting alone with his thoughts would not do him any good. He stood up, grabbing the newly-concocted poison and shoving it in his pocket. Before he left, he spotted a book on his bed about the relics. He had been on an interesting chapter just before leaving for his most recent mission. The book was detailing the myths around the Sword of the Creator, a mysterious relic that had not been seen in a thousand years or so.

It was said to have the power to cut a mountain in two. . .

Claude took the book with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I added the line where Byleth asked Claude if he was a bastard because that was 100% my assumption when Claude said he was only recently legitimized as an heir in the game (oops). I’ve been curious if anyone else had the same thought!
> 
> Also, I promise this fic won’t always be so guided dialogue-wise by the game. It ought to decrease significantly from here on out. . .


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for his poison to take effect, Claude runs a personal errand and discusses his concerns about the current month’s mission with Byleth.

“I just can’t believe anyone would want to do that,” a girl whispered to her friend as Claude walked past. Instinctively, his ears perked up.

“Oh, I know!” her friend agreed, nodding her head. “The mere idea of someone killing Lady Rhea chills me to the bone!”

_Oh, that again_, Claude thought. Though it had been a secret at its reveal, it seemed now like the whole monastery knew about the supposed assassination attempt against Rhea. Nobody spoke of anything else as Claude walked toward the mess hall that afternoon. Even as empty as it was, excited chatter could be heard from one end of the room to the other.

After all, it wasn’t every day that someone at Garreg Mach discovered a letter threatening their life.

Claude scoured the room for Nad, who was not as easy to find sitting down as he was standing up. Still, his broad shoulders were pretty obvious once you spotted them. Claude retrieved his food and headed for him. Teenage boys in blue and black uniforms sat on either side of him, albeit at a bit of a distance. Still, he had told Claude that he would make it known which boy was the one who gave him the folded bird. When Claude got closer, he noticed that Nad had a knife resting on the left side of his plate, pointing outward. When Claude’s eyes flicked to the boy on Nad’s left, then back to him, Nad gave a subtle nod as confirmation, then continued eating his food. Claude sat on the other side of the boy to avoid any suspicion, hardly even looking at him as he did.

The boy overall seemed. . . average. He was of an average build and an average height, with brown hair and dull-colored eyes. At a glance, he looked to be maybe a year or two younger than Claude. Claude could hardly believe that this was the guy who was trying to kill him. Still, he wouldn’t know until he knew. Claude casually put his hand in his pocket, carefully uncorking the bottle he placed there earlier that day, then placing his thumb over the rim as Byleth had done the night before. No sense in letting anything go to waste.

“It’s a shame what they’re all saying, don’t you think?”

The Blue Lions student jumped in his seat, then looked over at him. “What who’s saying?” the boy asked, his voice raising an octave at the word “who’s”. Dear_ gods, his voice still cracks._ Claude was starting to feel the slightest bit guilty about what he was about to do to the poor kid.

“Everyone. About Lady Rhea?” Claude said.

The boy perked up. “Oh, yeah! Professor Hanneman told us this morning that all of the students are supposed to help guard the monastery during the Right of Rebirth, since that’s when Lady Rhea is most likely to be attacked. This will actually be my class’s first real combat mission! Isn’t it exciting?!”

“Super exciting,” Claude replied, hoping the kid would not notice the sarcasm creeping into his voice. It wasn’t that he was not concerned for the archbishop’s life per se, but something about the whole situation still cried foul to him. Claude wished he had remembered to speak to Byleth about it the night before, but he had forgotten. Then that morning, it seemed like everyone in his class had an in-depth question for her about the lecture, so Claude had decided to catch her later in the day to discuss his concerns. After all, the next step of his plan would take some time to reach, if Claude could only get the boy to look away from his food. . .

“I’m just worried,” Claude continued, pulling the boy’s interest. “I mean, what if someone inside the monastery is aiding the attack? There are men and women who come here from all over Fódlan, and there’s no telling who could be a friend or foe.” The boy’s eyes widened, and Claude knew he was hooked.

“Do you really think that’s possible,” the boy asked, his voice much quieter now. Claude pretended to look around for eavesdroppers, then leaned in closer.

“I think it’s best to be prepared,” Claude whispered. He looked around the room again. “After all, the assassins could be anybody.” He pointed to a girl sitting at the table across from them. “It could be her—“ he pointed at a maid passing by, “—or her—“ then across the boy’s chest at a soldier in the distance, “—or even him.” The boy leaned over the table to see the man Claude had pointed at, his back completely facing his food. Claude poured the poison over it, and had the empty vial back in his pocket well before the boy turned towards him again.

“You’re right—it could be anyone!” he whispered fiercely. The boy suspected nothing.

“That’s why it’s best to be wary of everyone,” Claude replied, tapping the side of his nose. “Personally, I’m just trying to beef up before the end of the month. Don’t wanna find yourself in a fight with an assassin and realize you didn’t train hard enough, right?” He turned away from the boy then and carved a large bit of meat off of his lunch, shoving it in his mouth with more intensity than the situation probably called for. But Claude loved hamming it up for his more gullible victims. The boy nodded and followed suit, eating up the rest of his food more eagerly than he had before Claude sat down. Claude resisted the urge to smile, or to look at Nad, choosing to focus on his meal instead.

The boy finished his meal quickly then rose to leave, muttering something about how he wasn’t going skip lance drills a third time that week. Claude and Nad still said nothing to each other well after the boy left. They would talk later, Claude was sure. When the older man left a few minutes later, Claude was left alone at the table.

“Well, if it isn’t our fearless leader!” An all-too familiar voice said. Claude resisted the urge to groan as Sylvain sat across from him.

“Hello, Sylvain,” Claude said between bites of food. “I thought you would be with the rest of your gang?”

Sylvain scratched his chin. “Oh, you mean Felix and Ingrid? Yeahhh, they’re still a little bitter about me trading houses. Ingrid’s mad because she thinks I betrayed Dimitri, and Felix is mad because I left him alone with Ingrid and Dimitri.” Sylvain chuckled to himself.

“Is Dimitri not mad, then?” Claude wondered.

“Nah, he says he thinks Byleth is a better professor to handle me. Hanneman is a bit of a pushover, as I’m sure you know. Most scholarly types are.” Sylvain rolled his eyes. “But seriously, it’s not as if I’m abandoning my country. I just wanted to train under professor Byleth. Is there any harm in that?”

“Only if you traded classes because you’re hot for teacher,” Claude replied, his tone not quite as light-hearted as he had wanted it to be.

Sylvain winked at him. “I knew you were a smart guy.” Someone behind Claude caught the red-head’s attention, and Sylvain smiled and waved them over. “Red alert,” he whispered. “The Hot Girl Club is heading our way.”

Out of curiosity, Claude turned around. Three girls clad in black and red approached their table. In their lead was Edelgard, who looked more or less annoyed as Dorothea chatted animatedly with Petra beside her.

_Petra_. That was right. Claude still had to get his cloak from her. He had looked for her that morning after class, but to no avail. He was relieved to not have to search the whole monastery for her now. Edelgard sat beside Claude with a huff, while Dorothea and Petra walked around to sit on either side of Sylvain.

“‘Afternoon, ladies,” Sylvain purred. “What’s the topic of discussion?”

“What do you think?” Edelgard asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “The same thing everyone else is obsessed with today.”

“Really, Edie, you don’t have to be so touchy about it,” Dorothea teased.

“I’m not touchy,” Edelgard replied, her lip in a slight pout. “I just think it’s such a big stir over a simple letter.

“I agree,” Claude said. “It almost makes you think something else is going on, ya know?” The rest of the group looked at Claude with wide eyes.

“Says the schemer,” Edelgard said. “I just meant that people are too flighty, that’s all.”

_Sheesh_, Claude thought. _Can’t even impress a girl by agreeing with her these days._

“Flighty or not, at least it gets us out of traveling around for the month,” Sylvain said. He turned to grin at Petra. “Though my legs have grown muscular from all of my saddle riding—“

“Don’t be gross,” Dorothea said, playfully pushing Sylvain in the back. “Just because she doesn’t know what you mean doesn’t mean I’ll let you get away with talking to her like that.”

“Is there something wrong with riding horses?” Petra asked. “I appreciate a man who can ride well.”

Sylvain snorted.

“No, sweetie, he was making a pass at you,” Dorothea said gently.

“A pass?”

“I’ll explain later.”

Claude chuckled, causing him to get a pointed look from Dorothea. “And you shouldn’t encourage him.”

“I would never do such a thing,” he assured her, but his smile would not falter. Dorothea scoffed, muttering something under her breath about noble pigs. Yet she must have been amused by Sylvain’s antics, as she sat through at least three of four more of his cheesy pick-up lines, laughing and insulting him before Edelgard suddenly stood up.

“I think I am not hungry after all,” Edelgard said. “And I have some training I need to get in before class tomorrow. Care to join me, girls?“ Dorothea stood up with a giggle and a nod of her head, but Petra remained seated.

“I will be meeting with you later, I think,” Petra said. “For now, I would like to eat.”

“Oh,” Edelgard said. She wore an easy smile on her face, but her eyes flickered to Claude for the briefest moment. Claude wondered if she was afraid of him pulling a prank on her, or something. “No problem. Enjoy your meal, I will see you later. If the boys give you trouble, punch them.”

Petra and Dorothea both laughed, but Sylvain sighed in protest. As the two girls left, he began to stand up as well. “No point in sitting around all day,” he said. “Maybe I’ll go spar or something. Felix may not be talking to me, but he’s always willing to raise his sword at me.” He made a point in looking back and forth between Petra and Claude before giving him a wink, then he took off. Claude suppressed a groan, wondering what sort of nonsense Hilda had been spreading. Petra watched him leave then turned to Claude. “I don’t. . . understand Sylvain.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t either.”

Petra chuckled. They sat in silence for a few minutes while they finished eating.

“I’m glad I have a moment alone with you, actually,” Claude said when he was done. Petra perked up at his words.

“Oh?” she said. “What do you want to be speaking with me about?”

“You see, I never got my cloak back from you after the last mission,” Claude explained.

“Oh! That is right, I have it in my room. I was going to be bringing it to you this morning, but I had an early morning training with the bow.”

Claude grinned. “I didn’t know you used a bow in combat,” he said.

“I have experience with using a bow for hunting. But not for combat,” Petra clarified.

“I didn’t realize they would be so different,” Claude said.

Petra nodded. “While the two are being similar, they are not equal. Killing for food is not the same as killing for battle, not in skill, but in feeling.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Petra furrowed her brow. “I did not expect you to be agreeing with me. You use your bow to kill, after all.”

“I do, but I don’t take pleasure from it,” Claude said.

“You are. . . not like I expected, Claude. You are often surprising me,” Petra said. She had a slight smile on her lips. “Come, I am finished with my food. Let us be retrieving your cloak.” Once Claude got up to follow her, Petra walked close beside him. “You did not grow up in Fódlan, correct?”

“I did not. And neither did you, right? You’re from. . .” He laughed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I can’t remember the name of your country.”

“Brigid. It’s a small island off the coast.”

“So why did you come here?”

“I was. . . invited here,” Petra answered. Claude’s smile grew mischievous as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“That is a peculiar way to answer,” he said to her. Petra chuckled.

“It is not very peculiar,” she said. “It was a means for peace between my people and the Empire.”

Claude had a vague memory of reading about battles between Brigid and the Adrestian Empire. He could not remember the details, though. _Was it a rebellion?_ “Is that why you hang out with Edelgard?” Claude asked instead.

“Edelgard has been very welcoming to me,” Petra said. Her tone was almost defensive.

“I don’t doubt it,” Claude said, his hands raised. “I was just curious whether your friendship was political as well.”

“Not at all,” Petra said. “I like Edelgard. She is kind and always thinking of others.”

“Really? I guess I’ve never seen that side of her.”

Petra smiled. “Edelgard does think you are a—hmm, what’s the word she used? I am thinking it was ‘scoundrel’.”

“That sounds about right.”

“I disagree with her, though,” Petra said quickly. “I have seen you on the battlefield. You know who a person is when you are seeing them fight, and I am thinking you are a very good person based on what I saw.”

Claude chuckled. “Well, based on what I saw of you fighting, I also think you are a good person.”

Petra beamed at him, then quickly looked away. Claude wondered if somehow he had embarrassed her. “My room is just up ahead.” She opened the door to a clean room, empty save for an animal pelt on the floor and a few books on her desk. Claude’s cloak was cleanly folded on her bed. Petra picked it up and handed it to him. “Here you go,” she said.

“Thank you,” Claude said with a slight sigh of relief. He held it up and looked where the pendant should have been, then frowned. “Petra? Was there a pendant on this before?”

“What do you mean?”

“Right here, on the corner. There used to be a golden emblem fastened to it. Do you know where it is?”

“I do not,” Petra said. She frowned. “I am remembering seeing it on you when you have worn the cloak before, but I did not see it when I wore it.” Her eyes widened. “I hope I did not lose it.”

“I doubt it,” Claude assured her, though his heart sank. “It may have gotten lost before I even gave the cloak to you, maybe in the woods on our mission.”

“But just because I am not remembering it doesn’t mean it was not there.” She covered her face with her hands. “Claude, if I am the reason it is missing—“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Claude said. He took her hands in his and lowered them gently from her face.

“But I can see on your face that it was important,” Petra protested.

“It is important,” Claude admitted, “but it is my problem to deal with.” He smiled at Petra, who’s eyes were beginning to glisten. “Not yours.”

Petra nodded somberly. “I am sorry, though.”

“It’s okay,” Claude said. “My grandpa might be a little upset.” Little was an understatement, but Claude was not going to tell her that. “But he’ll get over it eventually.” Claude straightened and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you around campus though, right?”

“Yes. You will be seeing me,” Petra replied. She smiled half-heartedly, and Claude smiled back despite the lump in his throat. His grandfather was going to strangle him when he learned that Claude had lost his uncle’s pendant. Hopefully Claude would not have to visit the old man any time soon. He had enough people trying to kill him at the moment. He waved to Petra then left her room, his cloak draped over his arm. He began walking, though to where he was not sure.

The students, staff, and soldiers around him all discussed the same topic: the plot to assassinate Rhea. Over and over again, the same words were repeated: “I can’t believe someone would want to hurt her”, “we must make sure the monastery is well-guarded”, “how could this happen so close to the Rite of Rebirth”. . .

But something didn’t smell right.

Claude stopped walking, and realized he was right in front of Byleth’s door. Convenient. He wanted to ask if she shared in his suspicions, anyway. With nothing better to do, he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Byleth called. Claude opened the door and entered. Byleth was positioned in her usual manner, leaning over her desk and scribbling on paper. She hardly looked up when Claude leaned over her shoulder to read.

“Wow,” Claude said. “Ignatz has really nice penmanship.”

“Doesn’t he?” Byleth said. “I almost feel bad writing notes on his papers. He has a careful hand. Probably from painting, if I had to guess.”

“Ignatz paints?” Claude asked.

“You didn’t know that?” Byleth glanced up at Claude and smirked. “Take a seat. Or would you rather sit outside? I was thinking of having some tea soon anyway.”

“I wouldn’t mind sitting outside,” Claude admitted. “No offense to your room, but it gets a little cramped and stuffy in here sometimes.”

Byleth hummed in reply. “Give me one second, then.” She finished grading Ignatz’s paper then set her quill down in its stand. She stood and grabbed a basket resting beside her table, looping it over her arm. “Ready?”

“Ready as always, Teach.” They strolled together to a small courtyard not too far from Byleth’s room. It was surrounded by hedges, with pillars at each corner and only one entrance, half covered by boxes of supplies. “I didn’t know this was here,” Claude said.

“It’s sort of my little secret,” Byleth said. “Nobody is ever here because it’s so far away from the other courtyards, and its location is convenient for me to get out of my room when I need fresh air.”

“So you come here often, then?”

“I do,” Byleth said. “I’m hoping to come here more now that I have this.” She raised the basket for Claude to see before setting it down on the single table in the courtyard. Out of it, she retrieved an elegant white porcelain teapot and two matching cups with saucers. Claude whistled.

“Fancy. I didn’t know you were a collector of such fineries,” Claude teased. Byleth’s mouth twitched upward.

“I’m not. This was a gift that someone gave me recently,” she said.

“Who gave it to you?” Claude asked, his tone a little more accusatory than he intended it to be.

“A young man of fine taste,” Byleth replied in a teasing tone. She gestured for Claude to sit down as she began to heat the water.

“Look, if it was Lorenz, you can just say his name. I won’t shrivel up or anything, I promise.”

“Whoever said it was Lorenz?” Byleth asked innocently. Claude laughed.

“Fine, then. Keep your secrets.”

Byleth looked up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Go ahead and pick a tea from the basket. Then we can talk.”

Claude opened the basket and carefully read the names on each bag of tea. At last, he found one that was familiar to him—his mother’s favorite—and handed it to Byleth. “I didn’t expect to find chamomile out here. I thought it was more popular to the East.”

“It is,” Byleth confirmed. “But the perks of traveling as a mercenary include being able to purchase goods from various sources.”

“Ah, so you were a fan of tea before the frilly tea set was mysteriously gifted to you.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” Byleth said. “Though I will admit that I prefer coffee.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need to bribe you,” Claude said with a wink. Byleth shook her head.

“Trouble maker,” she muttered. At last, she sat down, pouring hot water into each of their cups. “So, shall we get straight to business, or would you rather chat first?”

“What makes you so sure I’m here on business?”

“Because you don’t visit me just to talk anymore. You used to, when I first arrived here. You were always full of questions about my days as a mercenary.” She sounded practical as she spoke, but Claude could not help feeling like he had hurt her in some way.

“I didn’t even realize I had stopped. I’m sorry,” he said, his tone genuine.

Byleth shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said. “You started coming by less often around the time you had the unexpected visitor in your room. I assumed it was because you were dealing with that.” She looked at Claude pointedly, lifting her tea to her lips. Claude wondered why she did not say “assassin” outright. Perhaps there was still a risk of being overheard by people passing by? Nevertheless, he was grateful for the precaution. “Come to think of it,” Byleth continued, “last night was the first time we had a conversation with one another that wasn’t related to missions in a while, personal or otherwise.”

“I think you’re right.” Claude grinned at her. “And now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve missed those talks. I’ll try to make more of an effort to stop by to chat with you from now on,” Claude promised.

“Was I right, though? You have something in particular that you wanted to discuss with me?”

“I do,” Claude admitted. He took a sip of his tea. “It’s about our upcoming mission.”

“What about it?” Byleth asked.

“Does something about the assassination plot seem. . . off to you, somehow?”

Byleth gripped her cup tighter, her eyes intent on Claude’s face. “So you feel it too?”

Relief washed over Claude, though he could not quite put his finger on why. Maybe it was because, by Byleth agreeing with him, he felt less like a paranoid lunatic. “Yes!” he beamed, though he did not raise his voice. If Byleth was wary of listeners, he ought to be, too. “Finding the ‘secret’ note on Lord Lonato just seems too convenient. Too obvious. And the way that word has been traveling around Garreg Mach, the focus on the monastery and the Rite of Rebirth. . . It’s almost as if—“

“It’s a distraction,” Byleth finished. She was leaning forward, her voice low. “I had that thought as well.”

Claude laughed, breathy and silent. “I’m glad I’m not the only one. But I can’t figure out why someone would make up a fake assassination plot against Rhea. Clearly they want all of the attention to be on her. Or more specifically, they want the attention to be away from somewhere else. . .”

“But where?” Byleth asked. “What in the monastery grounds could possibly be so valuable that someone would go to these lengths to get to it?”

Claude ran a hand through his hair. “That’s what I can’t figure out. I was hoping that you would have an idea or two?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t,” Byleth said, her shoulders lowering. “Have you asked your classmates?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

Byleth nodded. “We should let them in on it. I can bring it up during class tomorrow. We can spend the next few weeks searching the grounds, poking around, asking questions. . . Someone has to know something that we don’t, right?”

“And it will be faster to get answers with greater numbers.” Claude winked. “I like the way you think.”

Byleth sipped her tea, slightly shaking her head. “I think I can convince a few people outside of our class to help us with our search, as well. My father, the gatekeeper, and. . . Have you met Shamir? She’s one of the knights of Seiros, but she stands out from the rest.”

Claude thought about it for a moment. “Is she the one who dresses like a mercenary? Dark clothes, short hair, kinda hot in a ‘I could kill you with a blindfold on’ sort of way?”

Byleth frowned. “I’m not so sure how appropriate it is to call her ‘hot’. . .”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just teasing. But that’s her, right?”

“Yes,” Byleth said flatly. Her grip on her cup tightened once again, but only for a moment. “She approached me last night and offered her assistance with our mission. I guess she owes Rhea her life, so she’s taking this threat personal. I bet she would also help look for clues if I asked her.”

“Sounds good to me then,” Claude said. He laced his fingers behind his head and looked up towards the sky. It was a clear, bright day, with the slightest breeze to keep the heat from being too unbearable. Not that the heat in Fódlan even remotely compared to the heat back home. But he enjoyed the summer, for multiple reasons. His birthday was in the summer, for example. Only a few weeks away.

The clinking of porcelain drew Claude’s attention back downward. Byleth was wiping the inside of her cup with an old handkerchief and putting it back into the basket. “Cleaning up already?” Claude asked.

“Just my cup,” Byleth said. “I’m done with my tea, and I’m assuming you’ll be leaving soon.”

Claude furrowed his brow. “Why do you think that?”

“It’s like I said earlier. You haven’t been very interested in sitting around and chatting lately. Every time I see you, you’re rushing from one place to another.” She shrugged. “Why should now be any different?” She started to stand, and Claude reached over to catch her arm. When she stopped, he quickly pulled back. He ignored the fact the his face grew warmer.

“Actually,” he began, feeling strangely nervous. “I don’t have anything else going on today. Would you. . . stay and talk with me a little longer? Please?”

Byleth analyzed him for a minute before sitting back down. She rested her elbows on the table, then her chin on her hands. “Okay,” she said. “What would you like to talk about?”

Claude grinned, mirroring her position. He thought of how open her Jeralt had been while drinking the previous day, and it brought a question to mind. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever seen your dad do?”

Byleth snorted, the closest thing to a laugh Claude had ever heard come out of her. “That’s your starting question? Really?”

“I have a lot of time with you to make up for! Might as well jump into the deep end,” Claude teased. He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes

“Fine,” Byleth sighed. She took a moment to think, then her eyes lit up mischievously. “Okay, there was this one time—“

Two days.

That was how long it took for Claude’s poison to take effect.

That was how long Claude had been watching the student from the Blue Lions house.

His patience was wearing thin. It would have been different if the kid was at least interesting, but the truth of the matter was that Claude had never spied on anyone so incredibly dull before. He did nothing out of place, just went to class, studied in the library, ate, slept. . . Claude’s only solace was that it would be over soon, with worries of another attempt on his life far behind him, a distant memory. Well, assuming this kid had the connections that Claude hoped for.

The kid’s last class got out later than Claude’s, so Claude decided to head up to the library early, that way it would look less like he was following the kid around. When he entered the library, Claude spotted Lysithea sitting at one of the far tables. She was sitting beside a boy that looked to be about her age, with tanned skin and tousled black hair. Together, they were leaning over a thin book with tattered pages.

“May I join you? Or is this only a party for two?” Claude asked light-heartedly as he approached the pair. Lysithea slowly raised her eyes, no doubt recognizing Claude’s typical teasing tone, but the boy jumped up out of his seat, eyes wide, and ears already turning red.

“Excuse me,” the boy said, his eyes not leaving Claude. Something about those eyes seemed familiar to him. “I just remembered that I still have chores to do.” He bowed stiffly to Claude, then to Lysithea before taking his leave. When Lysithea turned towards Claude, she looked ready to burst into flames.

“You jackass!” she hissed. “Do you know how long it’s taken me to convince him to finally meet me here?!”

“Sorry!” Claude whispered. “Had I realized you were in the middle of a date—“

“It was not a date!” Lysithea whispered. She looked around, then gestured for Claude to sit down. “You don’t know who that was, do you?”

“Should I know?” Claude asked.

“I suppose not,” Lysithea said with a groan. “Cyril is one of Lady Rhea’s servants. I. . . recently learned that he doesn’t know how to read. He’s embarrassed by it. But I think he is still young enough that he can learn if he puts in the time.”

“I thought all of the kids living in the monastery were taught how to read, though.”

“Cyril is. . . a little different from the other orphans here.”

“How so?” Claude asked. Lysithea leaned in closer.

“He’s a war refugee from Almyra,” Lysithea whispered.

“Oh,” Claude said flatly. He was unsure how he was supposed to react to that news. Sure, the Almyrans and the people of the Leicester Alliance were not on the friendliest of terms, but Cyril looked hardly older than thirteen. Surely a kid that young. . .

“Not that he considers himself an Almyran!” Lysithea added quickly. She must have misjudged Claude’s mood. “He came to Fódlan long ago, when he was still a little kid. He just never had the opportunity to learn to read. That’s all I’m saying. But I know he wants to learn. He’s just—“

“Being stubborn about it?” Claude guessed. Lysithea huffed, giving a reluctant nod.

“He always says he’s too busy. But between you and me, I think he’s afraid to fail. I’m not sure I’ll be able to convince him to study with me again.”

“Well, if anyone could do it, I think it would be you,” Claude said, causing Lysithea to give him a skeptic look.

“But?” she prodded.

“But nothing! Can’t I pay you a compliment once in a while?”

“Well, it would surely be nice if you did,” Lysithea said. She forced a smile. “Thank you, Claude. I don’t quite trust that you won’t make a joke out of this later, but for the time being I will take it.”

“Sometimes, that’s all a guy can ask for,” Claude chuckled. He pulled out his current book and set it on the table. “And if I run into your little boyfriend in the hallway, I’ll be sure to tell him you say hi.”

Lysithea groaned. “Just shut up and read your book.”

Claude chuckled at her, and she playfully smacked him over the head with the book she had been reading with Cyril. “Hey!” Claude protested.

“I’ll be back. I have to get some homework done, but I need to ask Tomas where a certain book on magic is first. Will you be here a while?”

“Yeah, I have some reading to catch up on, myself.” _And a pest to wait for._

Lysithea smiled. “Then I’ll rejoin you once I find it.” She walked away to find Tomas, leaving Claude alone with his book. He opened to the page he had dog-eared, which contained the legend of the relic he was researching: the Sword of the Creator. He hoped he would be able to find some clues on where it ended up, assuming it ever existed in the first place. According to legend, no one had seen the sword since the earliest days of Fódlan, so separating fact from fiction on it was a fucking chore. The only thing that the handful of books he had read on the topic seemed to agree on was the fact that it had something to do with the Ten Elites of Fódlan. After skimming pages of groundless speculations, the Blue Lions kid finally showed up. _Finally!_ Claude thought.

Poor kid. He was not looking the best. His forehead was clammy and his eyes looked sunken in. Claude recognized his symptoms as the last stage before, well, what he was affectionately calling The Big Boom. It was that final vulnerable state that Claude wanted him in, before he would confront and interrogate him. “Hmm. . .” Claude sighed to himself, wondering how he was going to get the kid alone before things got too messy. . .

“Um, Claude?” a voice said behind him.

“Hm?” Claude replied. He looked up to see Marianne standing beside him. “Oh, Marianne! I haven’t seen you since you left on your mission with the Blue Lions house.”

“We just returned, actually. The mission took a few days longer than anticipated, but overall it was successful.”

“Well, your arrival must mean the gods have taken a pity on my lost soul. This book isn’t giving me the answers I need at the moment. Please, sit, distract me. I want to hear all about your time away.”

“Actually, I still need to go to my room and unpack, so I can’t stay for long,” Marianne said, remaining where she stood. She took something out of a pocket in her cloak and handed it to Claude. “I just wanted to find you before I got distracted because, well, um... I found this pendant, and I think it’s yours.”

Claude took the pendant in his hand and gazed at it unbelievingly. “Ah, right you are,” he whispered, hardly containing the relief and shock he felt. What were the chances that Marianne of all people would have found it, when she was the only one in his class that went on a different mission? “I thought I’d never see it again.”

“I noticed that you always wear it,” Marianne said. “So I figured it must be important to you.”

“It is. It’s a keepsake from my uncle, who’s passed on,” Claude explained. ”My grandfather would have had my head if I lost this for good.” Claude beamed at the gleaming gold pendant, still a little in disbelief, then re-fastened it to his cloak. “Where did you find it?”

“I spotted it just outside the gates when we were heading in this morning,” Marianne replied. She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It must have fallen off right as you class left or came back from the mission.”

Claude chuckled to himself. “It figures,” he said. “I would have searched high and low in the school grounds for this pendant, but I never would have thought to look just outside the gate.” He looked up at Marianne and smiled. “Anyway, thanks for returning it to me. You saved my tail.”

“Please, it was nothing.”

Claude furrowed his brow at her. “Are you sure you have to go? I’m really curious about how the Blue Lions were. Did they treat you well? Were they friendly, how are they in battle?”

“I just came to deliver the pendant.”

“Come on,” Claude prodded. “Just answer my questions, then I promise I’ll let you go unpack.”

Marianne sighed, then reluctantly sat down beside him. “They were really nice,” she finally said. “Especially Mercedes and Annette. Mercedes in particular was grateful to have another healer on the team. I did not see much of poor Ashe—he was a little distant from me. I think after hearing that I was a Golden Deer, he couldn’t look at me without thinking about our house’s mission.”

“That isn’t your fault though,” Claude insisted. “You weren’t even there.”

“Still. It felt like my presence caused him pain.” She mumbled something further, but it was too low for Claude to quite make out.

“What about the other students, did you get a chance to make friends with any of them this week?” Claude realized he sounded like a fretting mother, but he couldn’t help it. Ever since their first mission, he felt protective over Marianne. If anything bad were to happen to her, physically or emotionally, the people responsible would pay dearly.

“I never really know what to say to people, so not really,” Marianne admitted. “The only other person I really talked to was Dimitri. Prince Dimitri, I mean,” she corrected herself. Claude tried not to grin too mischievously.

“The two of you seem to get along very well.”

Marianne nodded, a far-off look in her eyes and a sad smile on her lips. “He is very kind,” Marianne whispered. “If all goes well, he will make a great ruler one day.” She seemed to realize what she was saying, as she suddenly stood up. “I really must be going. I’m glad I could help you find your pendant, Claude. See you in class tomorrow.” Marianne turned and walked away, her face flushed red. She was walking so fast that she nearly ran into Lysithea, who was on her way back to the table.

“What was that about?” Lysithea asked in a hushed tone.

“I think I just confirmed that Marianne is into blondes,” Claude replied slyly.

“Ugh, I don’t even want to know,” Lysithea replied. She sat down across from Claude and opened her book without another word. Claude was about to do the same when he saw the Blue Lions kid jump out of his seat and run for the door. _Shit_, Claude thought. Then, with a bit of dark humor, _Literally._

“Hey, uh, Lysithea?”

“What?” Lysithea demanded, not even looking up from her book.

“Can you watch my stuff? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Sure thing,” Lysithea said absently. Claude was already standing, following the kid to the place Claude knew he was heading.

The second-floor bathrooms were not far from the library, though due to their position at the very end of the hall, they were seldom used. Claude could hear the kid groaning to himself from one of the stalls, and he steeled himself for the worst. The smell was bound to be unbearable. He removed his cloak and stashed it in a supply closet near the door, figuring it would be too recognizable otherwise. Then he pulled out the strip of black cloth he had been saving in his pocket for this very occasion, and tied it to cover the bottom half of his face. When he was certain no one else was in the bathroom, he walked towards the kid’s stall and kicked the door open.

“Ah!” the kid yelped, clenching his stomach. He looked up at Claude with a mixture of fear, anger and confusion in his eyes. “The fuck do you want, man? Can’t you see I’m busy?” he groaned.

Claude grabbed the kid by his shirt and shook him hard. “I’m going to be the one asking the questions here,” he growled. “Got it?”

By the look on his face, Claude was sure the kid was about to shit his pants, were they not already around his ankles. The kid nodded limply. Claude reached into his pocket with one hand while keeping a firm grip on the kid’s shirt with the other. He pulled out the second death threat—the one that had been folded into a wyvern—and held it up to the boy’s face.

“What do you know about this?” Claude asked, keeping his voice low and gravely so it would not be recognized.

“N-nothing,” the boy stammered. “I swear.”

“Liar!” Claude exclaimed, shaking the boy with one quick jerk of his arm. “I have been scouring the monastery for weeks looking for someone who could fold a paper into a wyvern the way this paper was folded. You are the only person I have encountered with such a talent. Surely you must be involved somehow!”

“I’m not! Please! I swear!” The boy pleaded, covering his face with his hands. “He never taught me how to make the wyvern, he only taught me how to make the herring.”

“He?” Claude asked, loosening his grip on the boy’s shirt. “‘He,’ who?”

“It’s one of the knights of Seiros,” the boy sobbed, his face still covered by his hands. “He taught me how to make the paper bird so I could impress a girl in my class. He said he used to make paper animals for a girl he liked when he was my age, and he wanted to help me out. Please, that’s all I know. That’s all I know. . .”

Claude dropped the kid’s shirt and let him collapse onto the toilet, sobbing with fear and confusion. He knew a liar when he saw one, and this kid was not one of them. He turned away from the kid and steadied his breath. “The knight. . . Do you know his name?”

“Jacobe. Jacobe Cozbi Donovan,” the kid whispered. Claude clenched his fists. He thought he had found his killer. He felt so close. But would this next step be the final one before a close, or just another journey into the fog?

“Drink lots of chamomile tea, with ginger. If your stomach can stand it. It will help with your current situation.” He left the boy alone in the stall, retrieving his cloak as he left the bathroom. Claude would return to the library for now, but when night fell, he needed to speak with Nad. They had a new name to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP to the NPC’s anus. I just couldn’t do that to an actual character. It felt too cruel...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth gives a suggestion for what Rhea’s assassins might truly be after, and Claude embarks on a high-risk personal mission.

Claude stood in front of Byleth’s door, swaying side to side. He could hear her speaking with someone else in her room. Who it was, though, he did not know.Beside him, Hilda sighed impatiently. “Come on,” she muttered. “Whoever is inside needs to hurry up.”

The sun was beating down on the pair, so Claude understood her irritation. He at least was grateful for the tan and white uniforms they were allowed to wear in the warmer months. “You know we aren’t the only class that Teach has, right? We may be her main one, but there are easily thirty or so more students under her tutelage.”

“Yeah, but we’re clearly her favorite. And we have the house leader in our class.” Hilda nudged Claude in the ribs.

“Stop,” Claude laughed.

Byleth’s door opened, and two students exited. Ashe looked up at Claude, his eyes bloodshot and glistening with tears. He quickly averted his gaze, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Mercedes wrapped her arm around his shoulders and rubbed his arm soothingly. “Come on, Ashe,” she said. “Annette said she would be making us some cookies. Let’s go meet her in the kitchens, okay?” Ashe nodded numbly. Mercedes smiled gently to Claude and Hilda before leading Ashe away.

“Yikes,” Hilda whispered. “I think I would rather get butchered by my own axe than have to see Ashe look like that again. Thinking about our last mission still puts a knot in my stomach.”

“Mine, too,” Claude admitted, not taking his eyes off of Mercedes’ and Ashe’s retreating figures. Hilda tugged on his sleeve.

“Come on. The professor is waiting for us.” She walked into Byleth’s room, and Claude followed. Byleth was sitting on her bed, hands in her lap.

“Hey, guys,” she said weakly. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Why were Ashe and Mercedes here?” Hilda wondered. She sat beside Byleth on the bed, and Claude sat in Byleth’s desk chair.

“I asked Ashe to meet with me after. . . After Magdred. Mercedes came along to support him.”

“Oh,” Hilda said. “How did that go?”

Byleth sighed. “About as well expected. . . Under the circumstances. I did my best to comfort him, but in the end, I’ve never lost a father. I’m not sure how well I related to him, but I still think talking to him was the right thing.”

“I agree,” Claude said.

Byleth looked up at him, her eyes crinkled in that slight smile she always gave him. “Enough of that for now, though. I wanted to talk to you guys about our mission preparation.”

“Right,” Hilda said, straightening her back.

“We have all been gathering clues as to where the assailants may be targeting,” Claude began. “Though so far, I would say that it would be easier to know where they _aren’t_ going. We’ve ruled out the main halls and the Goddess Tower, for obvious reasons. Those places will be the most crowded. We’ve also discarded the idea of them trying to get to the greenhouse, the barracks, the kitchens. . . Basically, places where there might be little things of monetary value, but are not unique to the monastery enough to create such an elaborate plot.”

“Well, that’s something I guess,” Byleth sighed.

“Did Jeralt or Shamir have anything to add?” Hilda asked. Byleth shook her head.

“Surprisingly, both of them declined to help us. Shamir couldn’t think of anywhere the assailants would want to be except where they would harm Rhea. She said she would never forgive herself if the assassination plot was actually real, and she wasn’t by Rhea’s side to help her. And my father. . . He said it was his duty as a knight to do as he was told, and that he would not stray from his assignment, as much as he wants to help.”

The latter was not the answer Claude had expected. Jeralt always came off to him as the kind of guy who did what he wanted, rules be damned. Then again, he _was_ the captain of the Knights of Seiros many years ago. That was not the sort of title a guy earned by being defiant. “So it’s a bust, then,” Claude said. “Unless you happen to know what the church values here above all else, more than money could buy?”

“I actually have an idea,” Byleth said. She rose from her bed and walked to her desk. Reaching over Claude, she pointed at the map sprawled against the surface. Hilda walked around to the other side of Claude to see the map, as well. “See this here?” Byleth asked. “It’s called the Holy Mausoleum, where the tomb of Seiros lies. It’s the one place in the monastery that is only open to the public during the Rite of Rebirth.”

“A tomb?” Hilda asked. She shivered dramatically. “What would assassins want with an old, dead body?”

“I actually read about this recently!” Claude added. Hilda raised an eyebrow at him. “What? I’ve been researching the history of the monastery, shoot me. Anyway! The Holy Mausoleum may only contain Seiros’ coffin, but that’s not the interesting part. Her tomb is actually sealed shut by a mysterious, powerful magic. There is no record of who sealed the tomb, or how they did it, either. I don’t know what our enemies‘ intentions are, but I bet they are hoping to find something in that coffin.”

Byleth nodded and leaned away from the desk. “So on the night of the Rite of Rebirth, that is where we will be. Claude, since we won’t be able to enter the crypt before the ceremony, do you think your ‘research’ will show you a way to safely get in?”

“I don’t like the way you just said ‘research,’” Claude said teasingly, “but yes. I’m sure I can.”

“That’s my schemer,” Byleth said. “I’ll let the two of you go for the day. I want to see what other information I can get before the ceremony, so I think I’ll head to the library.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hilda offered. “I have a few books to return. Oh, but they may be too heavy for me to carry all on my own. . .” The two young women left together, with Claude close behind. He was tired of staring at the library walls after the last few days, so he decided not to join them. Instead, Claude found himself wandering towards the monastery. Maybe he could begin his so-called ‘research,’ as Byleth had called it, ahead of time. He had no plans for the rest of the day, anyway. None until nightfall.

He paused while crossing the bridge leading up to the church building, looking for any signs of a secret entrance. There was always the front entrance, but what if someone in the church wanted to pay their respects in private? His eyes scanned the walls for stones that looked a little different than the others surrounding them, odd wedges of wood that could be a hidden lever. Claude supposed if anything there may be a window he could climb up to. . . “Just what are you up to?” a voice asked. Claude looked towards it.

“Well, if it isn’t Lorenz!” Claude beamed, as impishly as he could muster. Things had been a little too chummy between them since Sylvain transferred into their class. Lorenz was due for a bit of teasing.

Lorenz scowled. “Whimsically wandering the monastery grounds?”

“Oh, naturally,” Claude replied. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the wall, which seemed to frazzle Lorenz even more. “After all, I really do adore the Garreg Mach Monastery.”

Lorenz looked unimpressed. “Yes. That is apparent by how often you ditch the weekend mass,” he said. He narrowed his eyes. “I know that impish look on your face. You are up to something.”

“Come now, Lorenz. Let's not start throwing around baseless accusations. It's not proper.” Claude racked his brain for an excuse to give Lorenz for why he was heading to the church. Lorenz had been the least enthusiastic when he learned that their class was going to be straying slightly from their church-given mission that month, especially when he learned that Claude was the one to first bring the idea up to Byleth. He wanted to look into the mausoleum quickly without Lorenz asking him a dozen more questions. How was he going to get him off his back? “This monastery is packed with a thousand years of history. Well, five years shy of a thousand, if we're going for accuracy.” He was rambling and he knew it, but he had just finished a book on the monastery’s architecture a few days prior, so he might as well put it to use. “Those pillars, these walls, even the floor... They've all seen more than we can possibly imagine. Our distant ancestors may have even walked these halls.” That had to get him, for sure. Lorenz loved nothing if not his noble heritage. “Doesn't that excite you?”

“Perhaps, if this were a discussion about art,” Lorenz started, enunciating each syllable sharply. “But I'm afraid walls and floors are not sufficiently interesting to hold my attention. Nor will they suffice to distract me from what is plainly suspicious about you.”

“Look, what’s your deal with me, Lorenz?” Claude demanded. His tone was no longer light-hearted. “I’ve tried being nice to you. And sure, I tease you now and then about your haircut, but I tease everyone! Is it really that you dislike me so much?”

“It is not that I dislike you so much as I distrust you.”

“And what have I done, pray tell, to deserve your distrust?”

Lorenz did not falter when Claude snapped at him. He glowered, bending down so his eyes were level with Claude’s. Claude silently cursed himself for feeling small in comparison. “House Riegan was on the brink of collapse until they suddenly revealed you as their heir. That was only a year ago. Where were you before that? You don’t seem to have an accent as far as I can hear, so you could not have been too far away. You clearly did not grow up near your grandfather and uncle, though. Are you even a _true_ heir to House Riegan?”

Claude sneered. He was at the end of his patience. He had things to do. _Important_ things to do. Far more important than petty house rivalries. The nobles of Fódlan could really get under his skin sometimes. “If I weren't truly of Riegan’s bloodline, how do you imagine I acquired my crest?” he asked carefully.

“A crest is insufficient! Any son of a whore could bear a crest if the right man crept into his mother’s bed. I am referring to your noble disposition— or lack thereof!”

_That’s the second time someone assumed I was a bastard in the last month,_ Claude grumbled inwardly. He was going to have to do something before rumors started to spread. “Well, that's what I came here to hone, after all.” Claude’s tone was a little more mocking than he intended, but in his anger, he decided to roll with it. “I can only hope that you will assent to one day instruct me in the art of snobbery!”

Lorenz recoiled from him. “I do not think you grasp the significance of the responsibility you bear,” he hissed. “Do you even know what it means to lead the Leicester Alliance? I take no pleasure in saying this—“ Claude doubted that “—but much of the chaos in our ranks right now is due to the failings of House Riegan's leadership. I intend to set things right. And once I expose you for the fraud you are, and reclaim my rightful place, that is precisely what I will do. To be blunt... it would have been better had you never shown your face around here.” Lorenz turned as if to leave, then stopped himself. “And one more thing. I know you seek to tarnish my reputation by lying to the professor and telling her that I am harassing the female students here, but I promise you such a groundless scheme will not work. So do yourself a favor and stop. The professor may be victim to your charms, but I am certain that she will learn how much of a snake you are in time.”

Claude watched him leave, his face hot and his chest heaving. Someone needed to pull the arrow out of that guy’s ass. He didn’t even know what Lorenz had meant by the harassment thing. But there was nothing to be done about it now. Perhaps a well-placed prank would put him back in his place later. Claude straightened his shirt and continued his walk towards the church. He wanted to get this done and over with.

The chorus sang their hymns in an ancient, forgotten language, echoing through the tall walls in a way that even Claude had to describe as ethereal. He closed his eyes, taking in the gentle rise and fall of the voices that sang as one, thinking of the bliss of a world united under one ideal.

“Claude?” Mercedes’ voice pulled him from his musings. The other student stood beside him. “I did not think you were the type to come in here without it being part of your curriculum,” her voice was soft and teasing, much like that of an older sister’s.

“I’m not,” Claude admitted, careful to keep his voice low enough that only she could hear. He wasn’t sure at what point his words would be interpreted from aloofness to sacrilegious. “I thought you would be with Ashe?”

“I dropped him off with Annie. I needed some time to pray.” Mercedes raised an eyebrow at Claude. She still had a sisterly look to her. “What are you doing here, exactly?”

“I’m here to run an errand for Teach.” The best lies were ones that had a thread of truth in them, and Claude could hardly tell Mercedes that he wanted to see how well-guarded the Holy Mausoleum was.

Mercedes giggled, delicately holding up one of her hands to her mouth to muffle the sound. “You seem to be rather close to Professor Byleth. I don’t think Dimitri visits with Professor Hanneman half as much as you do with her.”

“Well, Teach is significantly younger than Hanneman. It also helps that our personalities compliment each other.”

“Hmmm,” Mercedes hummed. “So it has nothing to do with how attractive she is?”

Claude looked at her in shock. “Not at all,” he insisted. “She’s my professor, after all. It wouldn’t be appropriate to see her in such a way. Especially considering how much older she is. ”

“You guys aren’t _that_ far apart in age,” Mercedes pointed out. She giggled again. “Or are you not that great at math?” Claude did not expect before for her to be so much of the forward type.

“I don’t follow you,” he said.

Mercedes stroked her long blonde hair that she kept tied over her shoulder. “Word around Garreg Mach is that Jeralt and Byleth do not keep track of age, since they spend so much time on the road. Neither knows the year or even the day they were born. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be deduced. For example, everyone talks about how Jeralt disappeared twenty years ago, right? When that big fire happened?”

“Right. . .” Claude prodded.

“But I heard from one of the priests that Jeralt told Rhea he married and had Byleth shortly after that. That would make Byleth, what—nineteen years old? And I’m guessing you are around eighteen years old yourself?”

“Not quite,” Claude said. “My birthday is in a couple of weeks.”

Mercedes shrugged, a knowing grin on her face. “All the same,” she said. “A year give or take a few weeks is no great feat. But perhaps you are too young to know that yet.”

Claude smirked. “You say that like you’re so much older than me.”

Mercedes peered at him from the corner of her eye. “You flatter me. Do you really think I look your age? Maybe it’s because I hang out with Annie so often. But I am five years your senior, Claude. I turned twenty-three on the 27th day of the Harpstring moon.”

“You’re kidding me,” Claude said. He knew Mercedes was the oldest student at Garreg Mach, but he assumed that it was only by a few months. The next oldest student behind her would still be only twenty, three years younger than Mercedes was now.

“I would not joke about such a thing,” she said. Then, with a sigh, she added. “I suppose I should apologize about teasing you. I may have taken it too far. All I really mean is that I admire how close you and Professor Byleth are, and I would not blame you for being attracted to her. Quite a few of the students here feel the same way, after all. . . I also wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?” Claude asked.

Mercedes’ smile turned more gentle. “When I was with Ashe, and we were leaving the professor’s room, you looked so sympathetic. I think Ashe had it in his head that everyone would look down on him after what his adoptive father had done. To see otherwise, especially from the students who had to face Lonato. . . I think it will give him peace about what happened. In time.”

“What happened was truly awful. I don’t know if I can say more about it than that.” Claude crossed his arms over his chest. “But if Ashe ever needs anything from the Golden Deer, and if we can provide it, we will.”

“I am glad to hear it. Ashe is truly a sweet boy. He will need support in the coming months. He’s been orphaned twice now. I can relate to that. But that’s a story for another day.” Mercedes gave Claude a slight curtsy. “I won’t keep you. Go run that errand for the professor. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Claude. For now, I am going to pray.” She strolled to an empty bench a few rows ahead of where they had been standing and took a seat. Claude watched her for a moment, making sure she would not look back at him to see where he was going. When he was positive that she was focused on the sermon that was beginning, he snuck over to the far room where the entry to the Holy Mausoleum lay.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” one of the guards asked him as he approached. He sauntered over lazily, gauging the guards’ expressions. Neither of them raised their weapons, nor even seemed to be looking at Claude too intently. He figured it was safe for him to step a little closer.

“I’m so sorry,” Claude began, as sincere as he could manage. “I think I’m in the wrong room. I wanted to give an offering to the saints, is the room with the statues—“

“It’s on the opposite end of the church, in the back right corner.”

Claude smacked his forehead, hoping the action would hide that he was searching for an opening with the eye covered by his wrist. “That’s it! I’m so silly. I tend to mix up my right and left.” _Aha! _He spotted it. Just beside the door was a rusted metal grate, just big enough for someone to crawl through. If he could get in this hall during the changing of the guards. . . “I’ll be on my way. Thanks again!” He walked away, keeping a casual pace so as to not raise suspicion. His plan would take time. It would take several days of observation to learn when the guards changed shifts, and how long the process took. With any luck, all of the guards would be as nonchalant as those two were. Less eager to reach their post. Claude locked eyes with Mercedes one last time as he exited the church. She smiled sweetly. _Looks like I’ll be coming into the church a lot more often now._

The night was as silent as it was dark. In the heat of the summer, it took much longer for the sun to fully set, but lamps were neither lit as often nor as close together, for nobody wanted the emission of extra heat. Claude, dressed in dark clothes with his face covered once again by a sash, was grateful for the heat, as the lack of lamp light made it easier to hide in the shadows. He made his way silently to the far end of the soldier’s barracks.

It took Nad less than a day to find out which knight was named Jacobe Donovan, and Claude an hour to find a map of the barracks in the library’s records. He and Nad had made a crude duplicate of the map—so as to not damage the original and to avoid getting Claude in even more trouble with Tomas—so Nad could mark out the location of Jacobe’s bunker. They had planned to go together, he and Nad, to confront Jacobe. Nad was firm on that point. He would not even hand Claude the map to Jacobe’s room until he promised to not go there alone.

And here Claude was, breaking that promise. Nad could not afford to have people looking too closely at him, asking questions about his identity, his relationship to Claude. . . If anyone found out, then Nad’s life would be on the line. Claude would not have that. If that meant going to see Jacobe a night early, and on his own, then he would bear that burden alone.

Though now that he was only a few paces from the man’s room, the weight of his burden seemed to grow heavier. This guy had tried to kill him, for reasons Claude could not fathom. The mask he had worn plagued Claude’s every dream for weeks. Claude had been _scared_ for the first time in years because of this monster. He would not go to bed fearful that night. One way or another, this was going to end.

No light peeked out from underneath Jacobe’s door, meaning he was either asleep or on a night shift. Claude pulled out his tools for lock-picking and opened the door. He pushed it slowly, looking around the corner in case the man had woken up at the sound of the handle jiggling. No one was there. Claude stepped in, closing and locking the door behind him. Now that he knew he was alone in the room, he pulled the scarf down off his face. A faint light from the moon lit the room enough for Claude to locate an oil lamp. He lit it, then with a gulp, began his search.

The evidence was endless. Stacks of paper were shoved in drawers, many with worn creases from being folded over and over again. It was as if none had been folded quite right, and were therefore discarded. Many others still held copies of the notes that had been found in Claude’s room. It felt obsessive, like he was trying to make every stroke, every fold, absolutely perfect. Claude kept digging. Where was the mask, the final incriminating item to tie it all together? He kept searching the desk, hoping it was hidden in a drawer. At the bottom of one of the drawers, he felt a notch raised in the wood. Suspicious, he fumbled around until it pressed inward and revealed a secret compartment. In it rested a single piece of parchment, with an old painting of a smiling girl. Despite the difference in age, Claude immediately recognized her long hair, her emerald green eyes. . .

It was a painting of his mother.

Fear gripped his throat, and he dropped the parchment, stumbling backward. His heart pounded in his ears and his breathing was shallow. “What the fuck. . .” was all he could manage to strangle out. When had his hands started shaking?

“You!” A voice behind him uttered.

Claude turned, but not fast enough to avoid the fist that came down hard on his face. The impact pushed Claude against the desk. His head was reeling. But he would have to recover from his shock quickly if he were to survive. His hand reached behind his body, grappling for anything that seemed to have some weight. He curled his fingers around what he thought might be a candlestick, and flung it in the air between him and his assailant. The man deflected it with ease.

He was easily half a foot taller than Claude, with pale skin and blonde hair that hung in his face. The man gripped tightly onto a cluster of Claude’s hair, lifted his head, then thrust it onto the desk’s surface. Twice. The pain made Claude’s vision blur and his ears ring. He felt like he was going to vomit as he collapsed to the floor, and the man kicked him in the ribs.

Claude coughed.

“After weeks of searching for your hiding place,” the man laughed. “Who would have guessed you would show up in my own room? And I thought you were supposed to be _clever_.”

Claude certainly did not feel clever, especially with the man—who undoubtedly at this point must be Jacobe—leering over him. The side of Claude’s face that had been rammed into the desk felt like it was tightening, and Claude could hardly see out of that eye anymore. He could have sworn he locked the door behind him. How did Jacobe get in without Claude noticing? 

Jacobe kicked Claude again, causing him to roll on his back, then lowered himself with a knee on Claude’s chest to keep him in place. “Such a pity,” Jacobe growled. “That the only gift your mother gave you was her eyes.”

“You—You knew my mother?” Claude coughed. He was running out time. His right hand twitched, and Jacobe stepped on his arm to keep that in place, as well. Due to a fit of ill luck, Claude’s other arm was behind his own back, and with the weight of Jacobe’s body on him, it would not be freed soon.

“Did I know your mother?” Jacobe repeated with disdain. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he scowled. “I was in_ love_ with her. And not just for her status, or her crest, as she claimed on the last day I saw her. That was one of your father’s lies, you see? Something that he whispered into her ear to seduce her away from me.” His knee pressed harder on Claude’s chest, setting fire to his lungs. Jacobe pulled a knife from his belt. “But does a man who wants to marry for power write poems for a girl he does not care about? Does he practice his calligraphy daily so that every stroke of his quill flows as beautifully as her hair? Does he fold his love notes into new animals every week, just so he can see her face light up in delight at the skill of his craft?” He grabbed Claude’s shirt collar and pulled upward, so their faces were mere inches from each other. With gritted teeth, Jacobe continued, “I wanted _everything_ to be perfect for her. As perfect as she was. Had she agreed to be my wife, I would have kept her in the finest mansion, wearing the most delicate of silks in the summer and the softest furs in the winter. I would have placed her in the company of the most esteemed nobles, so that all she would know was luxury.” He held the knife against Claude’s neck. “So why was I not good enough for her!”

Against his better judgement, Claude laughed. The motion made his face throb. “If you think that’s what my mother would have wanted, you didn’t know her at all.” The tip of the knife drew blood as Jacobe ran the blade across Claude’s jawline warningly. Claude groaned against the pain.

“Liar!” Jacobe spat. “You’re a liar just like your father! You filthy, mongrel half-breed! You runt child of Al—“

A sharp pounding could be heard at the door, along with muffled shouting that Claude could not quite make out. Someone was trying to get in the room. So the door _was_ locked. Or had Jacobe locked it again behind him? The weight of Jacobe’s body lightened slightly as he looked up towards the noise, but it was all Claude needed to reposition his arm slightly out from under his back.

“No matter,” Jacobe muttered. “Even if I do not get the pleasure of delivering your head to that bitch who betrayed me myself, I will still get the satisfaction of knowing that she will be childless at the end of this night. The Alliance traitor will get what is coming for her eventually.” He chuckled darkly. ”Fortune is on my side, you know. It was pure luck that I was already working here when you arrived, giving me the perfect opportunity to exact my revenge. Then when I was taught the ability to teleport by—ah, why am I rambling? I should just kill you now and get it over with.”

Jacobe leaned back down towards Claude, but he was ready. He threw his head upward, the crown of his skull colliding with Jacobe’s nose. Jacobe fell backwards just enough for Claude to finally get his left arm free.

He punched Jacobe, and though the effect was nowhere near as great as when Jacobe had struck him, it was enough that Claude could get out from under Jacobe’s grasp. Claude scrambled for his own knife, and Jacobe rose to his feet. He knew he would not last long in a scramble with this man, whose eyes gleamed with rage and desperation. The blood trickling from Claude’s neck was draining his ability to concentrate.

Claude only had one shot.

He lunged forward, forcing the knife upward just under Jacobe’s rib cage. Jacobe grunted and fell to his knees. Claude slashed at the hand that held Jacobe’s knife, and Jacobe dropped it was he cried out in pain. His hand looked limp, and Claude wondered if he had severed the tendons. Jacobe tried to grab for him with his good hand, but Claude was already moving out of the way. He drove the knife into the side of Jacobe’s neck. Jacobe crumbled. As he gurgled and spat out blood, Claude knelt over him, covering the place on his own jaw that was spilling blood onto his shirt.

“My mother,” he uttered through gritted teeth. “Left Fódlan because she did not like the games of nobles here. I refuse to be apart of them as well.”

The light in Jacobe’s eyes was fading, but he still managed to give Claude a menacing smile as he coughed up more blood. “They know. . . Where. . . You’re. . . From. . .” Jacobe gave one final gasp for air, then he breathed no more.

The door at last burst open. Byleth, accompanied by Nad and two other soldiers in Claude’s battalion sped into the room. Claude looked at them numbly. He was sure this must be an ugly sight, him covered in his own blood as well as the blood of his enemy who lay dead on the floor. A lump formed in his throat, and his knees crumbled from underneath him as he tried to stand. Byleth caught Claude, and ended up falling to the ground with him. “Fetch Manuela!” she shouted, and one of the soldiers ran back into the hall.

“Claude!” Nad said desperately. He knelt beside Byleth, helmet covering his face. “You _stupid_ boy!”

“I didn’t want anyone. . . To recognize you. . .” Claude said weakly. His words sounded slurred, though for the life of him he could not find out why.

“He’s dead, sir,” the second soldier said, checking Jacobe’s pulse.

Byleth yanked the scarf from around Claude’s neck and pressed it firmly against his wound. “Stay with me, don’t close your eyes. Claude? You need to stay awake. Come on.”

“What?” Claude asked. The world felt heavy. His vision in his good eye was beginning to darken, as well.

“Claude!” Nad shouted. “Stay with me, kiddo.”

“Am I late for training? Don’t tell my dad. He’ll drag me behind his horse again. . .”

Byleth lifted his face. “Stay with me, Claude. Please. Stay with me. . .”

“Teach,” Claude murmured. Something just occurred to him. Something she needed to know. “I didn’t find the. . . Mask. . .”

“—has extreme swelling on the right side of his face, possible head trauma, a horrible collection of bruises on his abdomen and arms, and of course, the wound on his neck. Luckily, nothing seems broken. He has lost a lost of blood, and he shouldn’t get out of bed for a few days. But otherwise, I think he is going to be okay.”

Claude opened his non-swollen eye slowly, awakened by the sound of Professor Manuela’s low voice. He was in the infirmary, laying on the bed she used for examining students. His whole body seemed to ache, so he did not bother trying to move. By the door, he could see Byleth speaking with Manuela, Hanneman, Seteth, and Rhea. He kept silent, hoping to catch what it was they were saying.

“But why were we not informed about this sooner?!” Seteth demanded in a heated whisper. “According to Professor Byleth, Claude has been sneaking out of his room every night for _weeks_, sleeping in a ‘secret location’ to avoid being murdered in the night, and he did not think that was worth mentioning to the school staff? And why was he in the knight’s room in the first place!”

“He must have lured Claude somehow,” Byleth argued, avoiding the first question altogether. “Jacobe Donovan has clearly been planning an attack on Claude for a while now. You saw the room. All of those notes, the death threats written over and over.”

“Not to mention the painting,” Hanneman sighed. “Even without the name on the back, I still could recognize the face of Tiana von Riegan from her days at the officers academy. Jacobe Donovan carried a torch for Tiana back in those days, if I remember correctly.”

“I think the evidence of that is apparent,” Manuela said in disgust, her arm crossed over her chest.

“Regardless of how and why this happened, let us thank the goddess that young Claude is alive and will recover. May justice be found for sir Donovan and his wicked deeds in the afterlife.”

“Do we think it is a coincidence that this is happening the same month that we are dealing with your own assassination plot, Lady Rhea?”

“Given the motives, I think so,” Lady Rhea admitted. “Before the Rite of Rebirth, however, I think it would be wise to re-evaluate the men and women that we have working at the monastery. This is not the sort of thing that I would like to see happen again.”

“What do we tell our students?” Hanneman asked. “There was quite a commotion when Claude was—erm—dealing with Sir Donovan, and many of them were out of their rooms to see what had happened. One or two likely even saw Claude being carried up here.” A knot formed in Claude’s stomach, and a wave of shame passed over him. He could hardly stand the idea of facing his classmates in his condition.

“I think we should leave any details for when Claude wakes up,” Byleth said. “It doesn’t involve anyone else, after all.” The other adults murmured in agreement, though some looked less happy about it than others.

“Let’s let the fawn sleep,” Manuela said. “I’ll keep watch over him tonight—“

“No, I will,” Byleth insisted. “I’m his professor after all, and you’ve done more than enough to help tonight. If he needs any medical attention, I’ll call for you.”

Manuela nodded as she yawned. “Very well, then.”

“If Claude wakes, please let him know that the archbishop and I would like to speak with him tomorrow. I would be very curious to see what his side in all of this is.”

“Of course, Seteth,” Byleth said. The professors and religious leaders all said goodnight to one another before exiting the room. Claude closed his eye again, in case one of them happened to look over. When the everyone else had left, Byleth closed the door to the room. “You can stop pretending to be asleep now.”

Claude exhaled slowly, the action causing strain on his ribs. “How did you know?”

“It was more of a guess,” Byleth said flatly. Claude opened his eye again and looked toward her. Her face was as blank and unreadable as it had been the day they first met. For some reason, that terrified Claude more than if her hair had been lit on fire.

“Thank you for not ratting out Nad,” Claude said, intending to distract her.

“How are you feeling?” Byleth asked coolly. She was apparently not going to take the bait.

“Like shit,” Claude admitted.

“Really? I would have expected you to be pretty damn proud with yourself.” Her voice cut through him like shards of ice.

“Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Teach.”

“Oh, I think I know you _exactly_ as well as I think I do,” Byleth corrected. She walked over to sit in the chair beside his bed. “Do you know how fucking terrified I’ve been these last few hours, Claude? I woke up in the middle of the night to Nad banging on my door. You never showed up at his quarters when you were supposed to, and he feared the worst. To top it all off, you took the map to your attacker’s room! Nad apparently had not bothered to memorize it ahead of time, since he thought the two of you were going to confront him _together_ in the daylight when things would be less dangerous. Because of this, we had to bang on door after door until we heard noises coming from Jacobe’s room. It was fortunate that we happened to pick the correct hall to start on, otherwise we may have been too late.”

“It turned out fine in the end, Teach,” Claude said. He was trying to reassure her, but his words seemed to have the opposite effect.

“But it could have easily gone the other way. What was I supposed to do, had things gone wrong for you? If I had to kill Jacobe myself, only to find that I was too late? To see you laying dead on the floor with your throat slit wide open?” Byleth’s voice was shaking despite the fact that her expression was unchanging. “Do you think I could have lived with that?”

“No,” Claude uttered miserably. His eyes welled up with tears as the weight of the night suddenly came down on him. Seeing the painting of his mother, learning that his life was on the line because of a scorned ex-lover, fighting and killing a knight of Seiros, who had lived in the same vicinity as him for months without him knowing, him saying that he knew the truth about Claude and where he was from. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, unsure what else to say. He had no clever words, no quick tricks to pull him away from this. Byleth held his hand as he cried, stroking his hair.

“It will be better in the morning,” she said flatly. “Get some sleep. No one will come for you tonight.”

Claude squeezed her hand, but inevitably he pulled away from her, choosing instead to lay on his side so his back would face her. He cried until his face throbbed from the swelling and his tears had run dry.

Sleep came an eternity later.

Claude had three dreams that night. The first was him standing in a dark space, with a line of a dozen people in masks staring down at him as a blinding light shone in his eyes. They all held knives, poised to attack, but none of them moved. Somehow, the anticipation was more terrifying than the action itself. Claude was unable to move, forced instead to look in the eyes of the masks. Waiting to be killed.

The second was a memory. Claude as a younger boy sat in a field of white flowers, picking blossoms and braiding them into long, dark hair. A young woman’s voice laughed in delight. And brought him pain.

The third, as simple as it was, was the strangest dream. At least, Claude thought it was a dream. He was laying on a bed in Manuela’s infirmary, the chair beside him empty. Nader the Undefeated, dressed in the ceremonial robes of an Almyran general, approached him with a somber face. “I’m sorry to leave you, kiddo,” the scar-faced warrior said. “Trouble is brewing back home, and they’re asking too many questions about me here.” A large, rough hand pat his shoulder gently. “You’ll be safe in her hands while I’m gone. . .”

“Oh, my _goddess_!” Hilda said from the doorway. Claude forced himself not to roll his eyes. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get it all out of your system,” Claude said with a groan. “I have yet to find the courage to look in a mirror after last night.”

Hilda made a face as she sucked in air from between her teeth. “That might be for the best. Your face looks like a blackberry.”

“Can you at least pretend like it isn’t that bad for my sake?”

“Nuh-uh. Friends tell friends when they look like this. Trust me. I hope you weren’t planning on using using your pretty face to coast through life, because you may have to invest a little more into your personality now.”

“Good thing I have a title and a crest to pull the ladies toward me, right?” Claude replied sarcastically. He sounded horribly like Sylvain.

Hilda’s smile faltered. She walked to his side and held his hand. That must be a thing with women, Claude decided. Marianne had been by his side at dawn, using healing magic to ease his pain. She, too, had held his hand. Even Lady Rhea took his hand in hers as Seteth grilled him with a thousand questions involving the incident the night before. And Byleth—Claude did not count that. She was gone by the time Claude woke up that morning, likely preparing for a lecture. But with how stone-cold she had been the night before, Claude did not think she would visit again any time soon.

“I can’t believe someone attacked you last night,” Hilda said.

“I hardly can, either,” Claude said weakly. Hilda squeezed his hand.

“When will you be able to come back to class?”

“Manuela says my ribs should be better in the next couple of days. But I won’t be able to shoot again until this heals up,” Claude explained. He pointed unceremoniously at his swollen eye. Hilda frowned.

“And if it isn’t healed before the mission?”

“Then I will have failed Teach yet again.”

“Yet again?”

“Nothing, sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. My head got hit pretty hard last night. Didn’t ya hear?”

“Ha ha,” Hilda said. She rose and straightened her skirt. “I have to go. Marianne and I are supposed to sort books in the library, and I’m hoping she’ll be eager to do most of the work for my sake.”

“Have you no shame?” Claude teased. Hilda winked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said with a singing lilt in her voice. On her way out the door, she passed Edelgard, who stepped in with her chin raised.

“My goddess, it’s true,” Edelgard said. Claude had a hard time deciphering whether her tone held contempt or concern. She rushed over and clutched Claude’s hand, making the action four-for-four. “For someone to lure and attack the future leader of the Leicester Alliance on the monastery grounds is ludicrous!”

“I didn’t think you cared, princess.”

Edelgard’s eyes widened. “Claude, please. Any ill feelings I have for you go no deeper than class rivalry. . . And a little jealousy over Professor Byleth picking your house over mine, I’ll admit. But I certainly would never wish anything like this to happen to you.”

“Well, thanks I guess,” Claude said.

“Two assassination plots in one month,” Edelgard murmured. She was scanning Claude’s face, looking for something that Claude was sure was not there. “How’s your head?”

“Throbbing, but should be fine in a few days.”

“Then I shall have to warn the other students that they will only have a small respite from your schemes.”

Claude tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough as his ribs ached. “My dear Edie, I did not know you had a sense of humor,” he said,

“Don’t call me Edie. And of course I do, I’m not made of stone.”

Claude smiled. “I’ll have to remember that from time to time.”

Edelgard smiled back, tightening her grip on Claude’s hand. “Petra was asking about you, by the way,” she added, a slight question in her tone. “I think she is worried about you. She probably would have come with me to visit you if she did not have her extra archery lesson planned for today.”

“Well, next time you see her, be sure to tell her that I’m grateful for her concern.”

“Hmm,” Edelgard replied. A knock at the door alerted the pair to Dimitri’s entrance.

“Oh! So sorry,” Dimitri stammered. He looked down at Edelgard’s hand holding onto Claude’s, and Edelgard quickly placed her hands in her lap. She and Dimitri stared at each other for several seconds. _You could cut the sexual tension with a knife,_ Claude thought in annoyance.

“Is there anything we can help you with, Prince Dimitri?” Claude asked dryly. Dimitri blinked, then looked over at him.

“My apologies,” Dimitri said. “I came to see how you were recovering, but it looks like Edelgard beat me to it.”

“Yes, I have had a stream of young women check up on me this morning. Squeeze my hand. Tell me how horrible I look. You can hold my hand and insult my face, too, if you like.”

“I think I will. . . Graciously pass, Claude.” Dimitri looked again at Edelgard, a particular longing in his eyes. “Anyway, I am glad to see you are doing well. Hopefully you will be on your feet again soon.” He bowed stiffly, then left the room.

“Is there something going on between you two?” Claude blurted once he was sure Dimitri was out of hearing range.

Edelgard looked at him sharply. “What would make you say such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Claude sighed. “You always seem to look at each other like there’s a history between you two.”

Edelgard cocked her head to the side. “History?”

“Yeah, like you knew each other before the officer’s academy.”

“We didn’t,” Edelgard said with a finality that made it clear she may bruise the other side of Claude’s face if he pressed the matter further.

“Okay, okay. I can take a hint.” Claude sighed, leaning his head back on the pillow. Edelgard turned his face back toward her, lightly touching the bandage on his jaw.

“Will this heal all the way?” Edelgard asked.

“Manuela says it’s the toss of a coin at this point.”

“I see. . .” Edelgard lowered her hand from his face. “‘Let us talk of happier things,” she said. “I was speaking with Hilda earlier this week, and she told me that you are turning eighteen on the 24th of this month. Is that correct?”

“That would be my birthday,” Claude replied hesitantly.

“We should celebrate! You will be turning into a man, you are freed from an attacker! We can have students from all three houses come—as a manner of goodwill.”

_Where I come from, you become a man at the age of sixteen,_ Claude mentally corrected. “And where would we have this party? The monastery would never let us do anything beyond a meager dinner.”

Edelgard tapped her nose. “I thought you were a master schemer?” she said. She rose from the chair. “They check the town every once in a while for straggling students after curfew, but they never check the woods. If we go far out enough that they can’t hear us, that is. How would you feel about an all-nighter under the stars?”

Claude grinned with the good side of his face. “Sounds dangerous and troublesome. I’m in.”

Edelgard grinned in return. “I believe I heard Hilda saying she was heading to the library, correct? I will find her to discuss a guest list.” She turned to leave.

“Thank you, Edelgard,” Claude called to her, stopping her in her tracks. “Seriously, I appreciate it.”

Edelgard looked back at him. “We are to be the rulers of neighboring nations one day, yes? We have to help each other out wherever we can.” She gave a slight smile and left.

Claude grimaced at her back as she left. _No telling what the girl is up to_. Claude sighed. But, he had to admit, maybe the time for that sort of thinking was over. Truly, there could be nobody left in Fódlan that would want him dead now. Right? Maybe it was time for Claude to start thinking of peace.

A single rap was tapped on the door.

“Oh, gods. Can’t a guy get some rest?” Claude called.

“Not when his professor is around, surely,” Byleth said, peering into the room.

“Ah,” Claude cleared his throat. “Sorry, Teach. That door might as well be a wheel for how many people have been rotating in and out of here today.”

“Everyone was rather worried about you in class this morning,” Byleth said.

“Everyone, minus a noble with purple hair?” Claude guessed.

“Even Lorenz said he hoped you would recover soon, actually,” Byleth said. Claude raised his eyebrows in shock. After the conversation they had had the day before. . . Well, maybe Lorenz was being polite for Byleth’s sake. Maybe the shock had given him a change of heart. Until he knew which, Claude decided he wouldn’t pull that prank, after all. Byleth sat on the edge of the bed. “I came to apologize. I. . . may have been a little too harsh on you last night. I’m sorry. I was just upset and—”

“You don’t need to do that, Teach.” Claude tried to smile. “I acted foolishly, and I am well aware of it.”

“But still, my timing could have been better.” She looked at Claude, her lips pressed into a tight smile. “I’m not very good with expressing myself, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“What, you? The biggest romantic poet in all of Fódlan? I never would have known.”

Byleth patted his leg. “I’m glad you still have your sarcasm in tact.”

“Please, Teach. It will take a lot more than a kick in the ribs and a knife to my throat to take that away from me.”

“So I see.” Byleth looked around the room as if finding the words to say. “So, you and I. . . Everything is fine?”

Claude smiled. “Everything is fine, Teach.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Byleth said. “You said you wanted rest, right? I should let you sleep.”

“Actually,” Claude said quickly, “I was only saying that because nobody wants to sit with a poor injured man while he recovers for more than two minutes. . . Sit and talk with me a while?”

Byleth’s eyes crinkled. “Okay, you win. What shall we talk about today?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD to pay a small homage to the DLC that came out this week, so I added in that tiny snippet about the summer outfits. I don’t think I can find a seamless way to bring in the maid’s outfits though. . .
> 
> My tidbit of the week: Claude’s first dream is similar to one I had right after my car accident last month (but you know, with cars instead of masked assassins. My life isn’t that dramatic). It felt more real than what I had written previously, so I added it in.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude turns eighteen, and everyone wants to celebrate with him.

_Happy Birthday, My Golden Deer!_

The note had initially sent a wave of fear through Claude when he saw it on his desk. However, the single fold in the parchment and the brisk writing style immediately relieved him of his worries. _He is dead now, _Claude told himself._ You are freed of him._

_Feel free to take the day off from training—my treat!_

_Stop by for tea later, I have a present for you. P.S. I hope you like the flowers._

_-Teach_

Claude read the note over and over again, a slight smile on his lips. When he set it down, he turned his attention to the vase that the note had been resting on. It was a small batch of roses, reddish in hue. They were commonly sold in the market just outside of the monastery. Byleth got them for all the students on their birthday. What he doubted she did for the others, though, was sprinkle a few chamomile blossoms into the bouquet. No doubt those took more effort to obtain.

A throbbing in his temples brought Claude’s hand to his face reflexively. The swelling had mostly gone down, thank the gods, but his vision was still blurry in the one eye and the area around it was tender. Manuela assured him it would recover in due time, and Claude had little choice but to believe her. He just wanted the whole mess with his attacker behind him.

He looked around his room, grateful that he could at least sleep there once more. Even with all of his borrowed books still stacked along the edges, it felt great to have his own space again. He was sure Nad was grateful to have his own space again, wherever he was. Claude hadn’t seen the older man since the night of his attack. All in all, though, the last couple of weeks had been rather. . . eventless. And Claude was not going to complain about it.

_Well, Teach said I could have the rest of the day off_, Claude thought to himself. He glanced at the piles of unread books in his room, then decided his relic research could wait. There would be other times to look for the sword that could cut down a mountain. So, Claude collapsed on his bed and slept. Rather, he tried to sleep, but he kept thinking of his party, of which he still had no details. Other than the fact that it was being planned by Hilda and Edelgard, both of whom could easily get carried away.

After an hour or so of failing to guess what their plan could possibly be for the night, Claude gave up on sleeping. Byleth had said to stop by for tea, had she not? Perhaps she was waiting for him. He dressed out of his school uniform and donned a more casual tunic. When he was satisfied that his hair looked okay, he headed for the stairs.

“Claude!” Hilda called when she saw him in the hallway. With a wide grin, she flung her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “Happy birthday!” Her toes lifted off the floor.

“Thanks, Hilda,” Claude said with a laugh. He tried to set her down, but she seemed hell-bent on dancing from his neck.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Hilda whispered. There was mischief in her tone.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Claude answered.

Hilda giggled. “Good,” she said. “Wear something sexy.”

“You mean the clothes you picked out for me?”

“Do you own any others?” Hilda teased. At last, she lowered her feet to the floor again. “Try to be out by the clearing a little after sundown, we told everyone else to get there around that time. This is going to be so much fun.” With a little hop, she released Claude from her grip, and with a wink, walked toward her room.

Shaking his head, Claude headed downstairs and turned towards the direction of Byleth’s room. Despite his own good mood, many of the students around him were tense, most likely due to how close the Rite of Rebirth was approaching. But Claude would not let that damper his mood. Not on his birthday. He had been to hell and back the last couple of months, and dammit, this day was going to be fun whether anyone else liked it or not.

Claude knocked on Byleth’s door, but she did not answer. He frowned, looking up towards the clock tower to check the time. Sure enough, he was earlier than he realized. Byleth’s last training session did not end until around 3 o’clock, and it was closer to 2:30 at the time. Still, Claude did not want to sit by her door waiting for her. It occurred to him that it had been a while since he last saw Byleth spar, which was always a treat to do. The woman moved like liquid and struck like lightning. Claude rushed toward the training grounds, hoping to catch the end of her training session.

When he opened the doors, there was already a decent-sized ring of students up against the wall to watch. _Strange_, Claude thought. _There aren’t usually so many spectators_. It made sense, of course, once he saw the two figures in the center of the small stone square. Felix panted heavily, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. His eyes were intently fixated on Byleth, who stood on the opposite edge of the ring. She was wearing shorts and the sleeves of her shirt rolled up, and her hair was pulled up in a loose tail. Her bangs clung to her face with sweat as she circled Felix, hardly seeming to take a breath.

Felix’s grip tightened on the handle of his sword. He lunged for Byleth, who caught the edge of the training sword with her own blade just inches away from her face. She forced his sword downward, then swung at him only to be parried. The match continued on in that manner for several minutes, with Claude just as entranced by the movements of the mercenary and the student as everyone else was. When it finally seemed as though Felix would land a blow, Byleth moved out of the way, so quickly that Claude wondered how it was humanly possible. She swung her sword at Felix’s abdomen, and the blow landed, sending Felix flying backwards.

“That’s going to leave a bruise!” Sylvain’s voice called from somewhere in the audience. Felix growled in response. As he stood, the bell chimed the hour, pulling both his and Byleth’s attention away from the match.

“I think we should call it a draw for today,” Byleth said, her voice sounding slightly strained. “Same time next week?”

She extended her hand to Felix, who took it begrudgingly. He nodded, then immediately turned away to set his sword on the weapon rack. The other students began to disperse, talking excitedly about the match. Claude, on the other hand, approached his professor. “That was amazing,” he told her. “I can’t believe how fast you move.”

“Years of experience,” Byleth said. “Nothing to gawk over.” She picked up a rag by her belongings and wiped the sweat from her face. “But enough about me, why are you here? I thought I gave you the day off.”

“Well, maybe I wanted to spend my free time with you,” Claude said. “Didn’t you offer me an afternoon filled with tea and celebration?”

“I suppose I did,” Byleth hummed. “How could I deny you that on your birthday?” The pair walked together out of the training grounds and headed for Byleth’s private courtyard. “Your wound looks almost completely healed. Though it’s not likely that scar will ever fully go away.” Byleth touched the edge of Claude’s jaw, and he playfully swatted her away.

“Stop it, you fret more than my own mother. I’ll just cover it up with a beard, and it will be like the fight never happened.”

He meant it as a joke, but he could sense Byleth’s mood darken. He was getting better at that, he realized. The subtle shifts in her movement, the way her spine would straighten or her eyes would narrow. Byleth may not have been the most verbal communicator, but she was not made of stone.

“You seem a lot more at ease, now that he’s gone. But I can’t help feeling that a part of it still bothers you,” Byleth said.

Claude swallowed. “There are a lot of small details out of place circling the situation,” he said in a low tone. “I want to let them go, but I have this little voice in the back of my head that has never let me be satisfied with the simple answer. And that little voice keeps whispering to me. Pointing out more holes.”

Byleth perked up at the mention of a little voice talking to him. Something Claude made a mental note of. “What sort of holes?” she asked.

“Well, for one thing, the knights of Seiros never found the mask that Jacobe Donovan wore the first night he—“

“Claude,” Byleth sighed. “I thought we talked about the mask already. He probably kept it stashed outside of the monastery, or lost it after he got wounded that night. Any number of things. Just because it wasn’t in his room doesn’t mean there was somebody else involved.”

“But that’s my point,” Claude stressed. “He said ‘they’—” He cut himself off. He had almost told Byleth that “they”—whoever _they_ were—knew where Claude was from. _Stupid!_ Even a sentence as simple as that would give Byleth more Information than he wanted her to have. Sure, she knew he grew up in another nation, but she did not know that its location was a secret because it could turn people against him. And he had almost let that slip.

Byleth frowned up at him, but she did not press him to finish his sentence. The one advantage to nearly being killed by a psychopath was nobody, except Seteth on occasion, wanted to push him for more answers than what he readily gave. They walked into her courtyard and sat down facing each other. By now, Byleth had so many students joining her for tea in the afternoons, that she just kept her tea set and materials for making the tea under the single table in the center of the yard. Byleth pulled everything out and forced a smile. “Forgive me. I should not have brought up the assassination attempt today of all days. A birthday is a big deal. I shouldn’t be bringing you down today.”

She immediately got to work, heating the water and pulling out the bags of dried chamomile that she always seemed to have readily in stock those days. Claude silently watched her, enjoying the peace of watching her effortlessly move from task to task. After all, he learned, the only time he could catch Byleth smiling—really smiling—was when she wasn’t paying attention. Only when she was done with her task, handing tea to Claude with her face in its usual neutral expression, did Claude decide to speak again. “I thought you didn’t give much importance to birthdays,” he said.

“My father doesn’t give much importance to birthdays,” Byleth corrected. She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. Her hair was slowly falling out of its updo. “Dates and locations have little significance when you’re constantly on the move.”

“So, you’re telling me that you do not feel the same way?” Claude asked.

The slightest hint of color flushed Byleth’s cheeks. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

“I am the master of keeping secrets.”

“. . . I made up my own birthday.”

Claude tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“When I was a little girl, I didn’t like not having a day to celebrate aging. I would hear of other children receiving presents and songs and getting extra attention for the day, and it made me jealous. So I picked a day, a random day. And on that day every year, I always made sure to convince my dad that he needed something at the market, so he wouldn’t take any jobs. We would go shopping together in the morning and have dinner at the nearest tavern in the evenings. If there was something that I wanted as a present, I would ask him to buy it for me, and he always did. Because that was the only day I would ever ask him for anything. A book, a sword, new clothes, didn’t matter what it was.” Her mouth twitched upward. ”And to this day, I don’t think he knows that I do that.”

“Wow,” Claude said, a smile on his lips. “I should be taking notes from you on how to trick people from now on, Teach.”

“Don’t tease me,” Byleth warned.

“What date does this day-that-isn’t-your-birthday-but-you-pretend-that-it-is-your-birthday land on?”

“Why does it matter?”

“How else are your students going to celebrate with you?” Claude asked.

Byleth chuckled. “The third day of the Guardian Moon.”

“That’s. . . an odd choice,” Claude admitted with a laugh of his own.

“I originally picked the first day of the Guardian Moon, since it is the first day of the year. New year, new age. . . It seemed to make sense. But then I remembered how absolutely _drunk_ my father gets on New Year’s Day, because his mercenaries always force him to go out drinking with them. So I moved it ahead a couple of days, to give him a day to drink and a day to be hungover.”

Claude laughed. He lifted his cup to her. “Then, cheers to considerate daughters,” he said. Byleth rolled her eyes, but still tapped her cup to his.

The pair chatted the afternoon away, and Claude felt at peace. Despite how close they were to their next mission, neither of them spoke a word about it. Nor did they bring up Claude’s recent altercation, or school, or religion, or anything dull. Byleth, for all her stoicism, was full of funny stories that kept Claude laughing until the sun began to set.

“I think I’ve kept you here too long,” Byleth finally said, looking at the shadows being cast by the church building. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your party in the woods tonight.”

“Party? In the woods?” Claude asked. Byleth raised an eyebrow in reply.

“I keep my ears open, even when I don’t seem to be paying attention.” She stood up and straightened her shorts. “I won’t tell on you, though. If I’m being honest, I’m actually a little jealous. It’s been a long time since I left the monastery just to have fun.”

“Then why don’t you come?” Claude asked. His heart started beating faster the moment the words left his mouth. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

The curve of Byleth’s lips tilted upward, but her eyes looked sad. “Nobody will have fun with their teacher there,” she replied carefully.

“I suppose you’re right,” Claude admitted. He found himself frowning slightly.

“Before you go, I nearly forgot that I have a present for you.”

“Oh yeah, that was the only reason I came out here,” Claude teased.

“Don’t be rude, or you won’t get it.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“Wait for me here? I left it in my room.”

“Sure thing, Teach.”

Byleth sped off, though her quarters were just around the corner. Claude stared into his empty glass, feeling rejected despite the logic in Byleth’s words. When his professor returned, though, he flashed her a light-hearted grin. “Open up,” she said, handing him a rectangular gift roughly the size of his hand. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, with twine tied in a bow around the width of it. Curious, Claude pulled at the twine to unravel it then tore open the paper. He touched the cover of the well-used book gently, carefully reading the title. “I noticed you had a lot of books about the Ten Elites and their relics in your room, the last time I went to visit you,” Byleth explained. “This used to belong to my dad, but I could tell he hasn’t touched it in years. I found it in his office collecting dust. It isn’t as scholarly as the books you’ve been reading, it’s more a collection of poetry about the goddess than historical facts. But I read in the book’s introduction that stories of her deeds used to be sung rather than written down in Fódlan’s beginning, and these are supposedly those songs transcribed into poems.” Byleth blushed slightly. “I know how much you like poetry, so I figured this would be up your ally.”

“It’s perfect,” Claude said to her. “I love it.” He did not realize that Byleth knew of his love of poetry, but the fact that this would hopefully give him some of the insight he was looking for, all the while being presented in a format he preferred—it truly was the perfect gift. “Thank you, Teach. Really!”

“Just don’t let Seteth catch you with it,” Byleth warned. “I flipped through some of the pages and there are one or two rather risqué pieces in there. I don’t think he would approve.”

“Now you’re just saying things to impress me,” Claude teased. He stood up, and realized just how closely that Byleth had been standing behind him. She had to take a step back in order to keep from being pressed up against him. “Sorry,” Claude muttered, taking a step back himself.

“Don’t worry about it,” Byleth replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked up at him, eyes unreadable. “Go on, enjoy your evening. I’ll clean up here. . . And I’m glad you like the gift.”

Claude forced a smile and nodded, distracted by how fast his heart was racing. _Over a book, Claude? Really?_

It wasn’t the book, but Claude was not going to admit that. Byleth was his teacher, after all.

Claude rushed to his room and closed the door behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself for feeling how he did. Ever since the night he had confronted Jacobe Donovan, something had shifted between him and Byleth. Claude did not know if it was the fact that he was no longer distracted by the death threat, or that she had sat with him in the infirmary while he cried. . . But he was more aware of her now. The way she spoke, the way she moved, how close or far she was from him at any given moment. . .

Claude looked at the book in his hands, and felt a pang in his stomach. _Stupid, stupid_, he thought. He tossed the book on the bed, hesitated, then picked it up and set it on the only clean spot he had on his desk. He did _really_ like the book.

Sighing, Claude resigned himself to getting ready for the party instead of trying to sort out his feelings. It was still early enough in the day that he could walk out the gate, and just happen not to come back before curfew. That was part of Hilda’s plan, he realized. Not everyone could do it without drawing attention, but Claude figured that at the very least, she did not want to climb down a rope agai—He shook his head, a harsh frown on his face. There it was, another phantom memory. Claude turned back to his desk, hastily pulling out the piece of paper that he had hidden in his drawer and reaching for his quill.

_Hilda and I sneaking out through my window. We climbed down a rope. . . Someone else was with us?_

He left space beside the last sentence in case it came to him later. Now that there was room in his mind for other things, Claude had started keeping a list of all of these. . . instances, that he could not quite make sense of. Everything from dancing with Leonie to watching Lysithea get torn in two by a wolf (though the latter he was still convinced may have just been a really bad dream). And it all started at Zanado.

He carefully read the first sentence on his list, reminding himself why he needed answers so badly. Why he was sure that these were more than just dreams he had forgotten he had, or daydreams, or tricks of the mind.

_Marianne died in my arms._

That one, above all the others, he was certain was real. The memory was too vivid, too painful to have been fabricated in his own mind. Claude was not that cruel to himself.

Once the ink was dry, he opened his drawer and placed the paper back inside. He took a few deep, steadying breaths. “Come on, Claude,” he muttered to himself. “It’s your birthday, you handsome devil. Time to have some fun.”

Claude pulled off his tunic and tossed it on the floor. Hilda had been very insistent on picking his outfit for the night, and he knew he would rather face the sharp end of her axe than show up in something she deemed less than worthy of the occasion. The shirt was not one that he owned when he first came to the officer’s academy. Hilda made Claude go into town with her to do some shopping the second Manuela cleared him to leave the infirmary. Her taste was not the same as Claude’s, safe to say, but he was not opposed to what she picked: an off-white shirt that laced up along his chest, with golden details embroidered at the collar and the hem. Claude pulled the shirt over his head, but left the lace untied. Hilda had insisted the shirt be worn that way. Then Claude changed into the simple dark pants made of a thin material for the summer, and his boots that he had cleaned of mud and muck the night before.

He checked his final appearance in the mirror, debating on whether he should wear a different earring, or change the charm that hung from his braid. _Wow, I’m spending too much time with Hilda_, Claude thought with a chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair, then headed out the door.

Byleth had been right when she said the day was growing dim. The hallway was already being lit by torches, as the sun no longer provided enough light for the students to see. That meant Claude had to hurry. With any luck, Hilda and everyone else were already out of the monastery, or heading that way soon. He entered into the monastery’s market area with his head hung low, in hopes that none of the guards would notice him leaving. When he was out the gate, he hung a right just before the dirt-packed path and followed the wall to the spot where he had stashed his camping supplies and a change of clothes the day before.

He was already familiar with the place where they were all supposed to meet. About half a mile away from the monastery, there was a flat clearing in the trees. It was perfect for star-gazing, or in this case, hosting a few dozen teenagers for a party. Claude himself would often go there to take naps on his afternoons off, or when he felt like ditching class. But that happened far less often than it used to. Claude walked lazily toward the clearing with his bag of belongings slung over his shoulder. He should have brought a torch, he realized. It was too late to turn back, though. Still, the slightly worn path beneath his feet kept him from stumbling and told him that he would not be the first to arrive. Chances were he would soon see light ahead.

The sound of giggling reached him first. Claude easily detected Hilda’s laugh amidst a group of other girls, whose voices he was not so familiar with. When he approached the clearing, he found Hilda, Edelgard, and Dorothea laughing in a circle while Edelgard’s crony, Hubert, and Raphael set up a makeshift table at the edge of the clearing. Claude was relieved to see that he was not the only one out of his school uniform. Each of the girls was wearing a dress that was either sleeveless or short (or in Dorothea’s case—both), and the boys were simply in casual shirts. Hilda was the first to see Claude enter the clearing. She smiled ran up to meet him. “Ah, the man of the hour!”

“I figured you would be the last person to arrive,” Claude said with a laugh. “Somebody might actually think you’re working now.” Hilda linked her arm with his to lead him towards the center of the open area, where Edelgard and Dorothea were watching.

“Don’t be silly, that’s why Raphael is here,” Hilda said more quietly. “He actually offered to help me set up the second I told him about the party—sweet guy. I think he wanted to put his muscles to use.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Claude said absently, watching Raphael lift a heavy log and set it by the fire Hubert was now starting. The pair reached the other two girls, both of whom were smiling up at Claude in an uncharacteristically-friendly manner.

“Happy birthday, Claude,” Edelgard greeted him, while Dorothea flung her arms around Claude and kissed his cheek.

“Easy! Down, girl,” Hilda warned as her lips started trailing to his mouth.

“Oops, sorry,” Dorothea giggled. “I may have started drinking before we left the monastery, and I tend to get a little handsy when I’m drunk.”

“Good thing I’ve already agreed to be your babysitter, then,” Edelgard said, gently pulling Dorothea away from Claude. She smiled up at him. “We’re running a little behind as you can see since we’re still setting up. Luckily nobody else has arrived quite yet.”

“Maybe I could help, then,” Claude offered.

“No no,” Edelgard said. “You are the guest of honor, you’re not allowed to do anything but drink and enjoy yourself.”

“Can I least lay out my own blanket?” Claude asked with a laugh. He still did not quite trust Edelgard’s intentions for throwing him this party, but he was going to leave the questioning for later. In the meantime, he had to remind himself to act polite and grateful. In most ways, he was. He just also happened to be suspicious.

“We are having everyone sleep in the center of the clearing so we can get the best view of the stars. You can set your stuff down over there,” Dorothea suggested, gesturing to an area a few paces from where they were standing.

“Thanks,” Claude said with a smile. He walked over to the indicated spot and set down his bundle, pulling out his blankets and spreading them out on the grass as the girls behind them resumed their conversation at a significantly-lower volume. Claude inclined his head, curious of the topic, but he was too far away to hear. Once he was set up, he pulled out the bottle of wine that he had snatched from the cellars and held it up for Hilda and Edelgard. “Any particular place for this?” he asked.

“In your mouth,” Hilda replied, and the girls all laughed. Hubert, from the other side of the clearing, straightened to shoot a glare in Claude’s direction. Claude hoped more people would arrive soon.

It was a wonder how much there was to set up, and how quickly the other two guys managed to do it. The town just outside of the monastery generally had no rules on the right drinking age, as long as there weren’t too many knights around, so Raphael and Hubert managed to grab a few kegs that afternoon. Hilda and Dorothea had similar ideas to Claude’s and swiped a few bottles of wine and spirits from the monastery over the last several days. Edelgard brought several basket’s worth of breakfast foods for the next morning, claiming her specialty was more in reducing hangovers than creating them. Claude thought that was a nice way of saying she did not want to get caught stealing alcohol.

By the time the group had a fire going and drinks laid out, other students started trickling in from the forest. Some brought food, or drinks, or small gifts for Claude, while others barely remembered to grab extra blankets for themselves before leaving. The darker it got, the more Claude was impressed with how many students were arriving. “How did you even manage to pull this off?” Claude whispered to Edelgard, eyeing a pair of girls that looked suspiciously like Marianne and Lysithea in the growing darkness.

“Which part, the inviting or the sneaking out?”

“I guess both,” Claude said with a chuckle.

Edelgard smiled, taking a sip of the drink Dorothea had poured for her. “The invitations were easy. I’m pretty sure most of the Golden Deer House will show up, though whether out of obligation or because they actually like you is beyond me. I mentioned it everywhere I went, so it is likely that the only students from the other houses who won’t show up are the goody-two-shoes and the shut-ins. What can I say? You must be a likable guy.”

Claude chuckled, a slight flush coming to his cheeks. “And the sneaking out?”

Edelgard leaned in closer and whispered, “There’s a spot near the bathhouse where the wall has crumbled. It’s just big enough for a person to slip through, and there are so many crates stacked in front of it, that I doubt any of the school staff know it is there.”

“You’re quite a bit more crafty than I give you credit for,” Claude admitted. Edelgard smiled, looking away from him, as if she were about to blush.

“Don’t be fooled by the show I put on for the adults. I, too, like to have fun now and again.”

“So I see,” Claude chuckled.

“Your majesties!” Sylvain called, stumbling over with a drink in his hands. “Edelgard! You are looking positively radiant tonight! And here I thought we were out here to celebrate Claude!” He put an arm around Claude’s shoulders, staggering slightly. Claude forced a smile. How early had Sylvain started drinking? “Are you a fan of drinking games, my good sir?” Sylvain asked him.

“I knew a few back home, but I’m not familiar with the ones played in Fódlan,” Claude replied.

“Don’t worry, they’re easy to pick up. Otherwise drunk people wouldn’t be able to play, eh? Come on, you two, follow me!” He lead Claude by the shoulders to a small circle of students sitting around a fire, while Edelgard followed. As they got closer, Claude recognized Mercedes, Ingrid, Felix, Dimitri, Marianne, Hilda, Ferdinand, Dorothea, and Petra. He was a little surprised that Dedue was not there, as he hardly ever left the prince’s side.

“It’s a simple question, Mercedes,” Ferdinand said with a chuckle as they approached. “Jeritza, Manuela, and Hanneman. Fuck, marry, kill?”

“Okay, sit sit sit,” Sylvain urged Edelgard and Claude as Mercedes thought of the answer.

“I suppose I would sleep with Manuela, marry Hanneman, and kill Jeritza?”

Ferdinand sputtered. “Really?! I mean, I won’t argue with the choice in Manuela, but I was sure you would give Hanneman the axe and marry Jeritza instead.”

“Oh, no,” Mercedes insisted. “I find him very intriguing, but the idea of doing anything physical or romantic with him absolutely rubs me the wrong way. I can’t explain why, though.”

“I totally disagree,” Dorothea said with a smirk. She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “He’s so mysterious and sexy. I would love to see what’s under his mask. And his pants.”

“Okay, okay ladies. Let’s table this conversation for now. We have a game to play. Does everyone have a drink?” Sylvain asked.

Everyone gave him a “yes,” though with varying levels of confidence. Claude smiled at Marianne as he sat across from her. She looked the least willing to play whatever game Sylvain had in store, but Hilda had her arm looped around hers tightly, as if to keep her in place. Marianne blushed at Claude then looked away.

“What’s the name of the game, Sylvain?” Claude asked.

Sylvain gave Claude a cocky smirk and winked. “It’s called ‘Never Have I Ever’.” Ingrid, Felix, and Dimitri collectively groaned. Claude wondered if this was a regular game Sylvain played. “Each of us take turns sharing something that we have never done. If someone else in the circle has done whatever the thing is, they drink! The only other rule is that you can’t say something that another person in the group has already said. Simple enough, right?”

“If by ‘simple’ you mean ‘stupid’. . .” Ingrid muttered under her breath, causing Felix and Dimitri to laugh.

“Ingrid, my dear! You have earned yourself the honor of giving the first statement. Thank you for volunteering.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Never have I ever been a dumb-ass named Sylvain,” she said.

“No fun,” Sylvain protested, but he took a long drink from his cup anyway. He pointed to Felix, who was sitting next to Ingrid. “Felix?”

“Never have I ever had red hair,” Felix said, forcing Sylvain to drink again, though at least this time not alone. “Sorry, Ferdinand. It was the easiest option.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Ferdinand replied. He smirked at Sylvain before taking a drink.

“Leave it to my childhood friends to be such wet blankets! The whole point is to say things in order to _learn_ about the people in your group. Dimitri, you’re next. You know what? I don’t trust you, either. I’m skipping you.”

“What!”

“Marianne! Your turn!”

“Oh! Umm. . .” Marianne looked at Hilda with wide eyes.

“Go on,” Hilda encouraged her, “It doesn’t matter what you say. Just something you’ve never done.”

“Okay. . .” Marianne got quiet for a second. “Never have I ever. . . Flown on an animal’s back?”

“Alright! Finally something that isn’t aimed at me!” Sylvain cheered. Ingrid and Claude both drank. Sylvain looked more pleased about it than Claude liked. “Hilda? Your turn.”

“Never have I ever kissed a girl,” Hilda said with a wink. Ingrid snickered, and everyone except her, Marianne, Petra, and Edelgard drank from their cups. Sylvain raised an eyebrow at Mercedes.

“Mercie, remind me later tonight that you and I need to have a long talk about your life before the monastery,” he said. Mercedes smiled at him sweetly, but Claude could see a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I don’t think you could handle the stories I would tell you,” she replied, which sent the group bursting into laughter. Even Sylvain laughed, despite the joke being at his expense.

“All the more reason to ask,” he said. “But we’ll have to put a pin in that until this game is over, because _none_ of you are drunk enough yet.” He wiggled his finger at everyone in the circle, lingering a little longer on Claude than the rest. “Ferdie, you’re next.”

“Never have I ever been bested in a duel,” Ferdinand stated. Claude noticed that he side-eyed Edelgard as he said it, though she did not drink. Claude, on the other hand, did. He did not pay attention to whether or not he was the only one.

“Okay, my turn next,” Sylvain said. He still had that overly-satisfied smirk on his face. “Never have I ever been an eighteen-year-old virgin,” he said. Claude resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He drank from his cup deeply, certain that the only person in the circle who even cared was Sylvain.

“Dammit, Sylvain! You know the way you worded that also means everyone under eighteen yers old needs to drink no matter what then, right?” Ingrid protested.

“I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them,” Sylvain replied with a wink. Ingrid groaned, but drank anyway. Seeing as a majority of the group was seventeen or younger, everyone but Sylvain, Hilda and Dorothea ended up taking a drink.

“And now to the princess. Miss Edelgard?” Sylvain said.

Edelgard paused briefly, shifting her cup between her hands. “Careful, now,” Dimitri warned jokingly. “Don’t reveal anything too serious.” Edelgard glared up at him, her eyes reflecting the fire between them.

“Never have I ever had someone try to kill me at age fourteen,” she snapped.

The circle grew silent. Dimitri glared at Edelgard, his lip curled into a snarl.

Slowly, he drank.

Then Claude. Rules were rules, after all.

Then, with a shaking breath, so did Marianne.

“Mari?” Hilda whispered.

“My cup is empty. I’m going to go refill it,” Marianne said hastily. She rose and quickly left the circle. Hilda started to follow her, but Dimitri signaled for her to stay put.

“No, I’ll go,” he murmured, ensuring he glared once more at Edelgard before rushing in Marianne’s direction.

“I. . . Didn’t mean to say that out loud. . .” Edelgard whispered. She, too, stood up to leave. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”

Dorothea quickly followed her as she left, though the rest of the group stayed put. None of them spoke. Claude was sure that, like him, they did not know what to say.

“Love triangles,” Sylvain muttered after several moments of silence. “Am I right?”

“Really, Sylvain, you can be _so_ immature sometimes. How are you the oldest out of us again?” Ingrid asked.

“Hey now, I never claimed to be a wealth of sagely wisdom—“

Felix jumped into the argument, though Claude was not listening to what the group was saying anymore. Despite the tension easing up in the circle, his mood was still sour. Edelgard was not usually so rash, so he could not understand why she would suddenly lash out as she did. And while Marianne was certainly more collateral damage than an actual target, Claude’s irrational protectiveness over the girl made the words seem personal. More so than the fact that he got called out, as well.

“She will likely apologize later,” a voice whispered to him. Claude jumped, causing Petra to giggle. “Sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to be startling you.”

“It’s okay,” Claude assured her. She had been so quiet that Claude forgot he was even sitting next to her. “I was just lost in thought there for a second.”

“I did not think you were the type to be jumping easily,” Petra said, a mischievous grin on her face. “But I must admit, the thought is amusing me.”

Claude chuckled softly, then looked back towards the fire. “I find that I’m learning a lot about myself this month,” he said in a low voice. He vaguely noticed that Hilda had joined in on the friendly banter between Sylvain and his childhood friends, which Mercedes was trying to subdue. Ferdinand had disappeared from the circle altogether.

“I am not understanding,” Petra admitted. “Are you referring to your attack?”

“Something like that,” Claude said. He looked back up at Petra. She had a strange gleam in her eye and her jaw was set tightly in place.

“You should get marked,” she said. “For protection.”

“Now I’m the one who doesn’t understand,” Claude said with a laugh.

Petra smiled. She picked up Claude’s hand and touched it to her face, where she had a curved purple line tattooed under her right eye. “In Brigid, we start getting these markings at a young age. Each one is a prayer. This one on my face, for example, is a prayer for protection, particularly when hunting. Perhaps you should get a mark as well.”

Claude swallowed, thinking of the wound on his jaw that would likely become a scar. It was a mark enough for him. “Well, maybe if I visit Brigid someday, we can talk about giving me a mark,” he said. He glanced down at her arm, which was usually covered by the sleeves on her school uniform. Now, with her wearing a sleeveless dress, he noticed that she also had a tattoo encircling her arm. “These are beautiful.”

Petra beamed at him. “Are you really thinking so?” she asked. “I was afraid that the men of Fódlan would be thinking my marks were. . . Hmm, unattractive? Yes, that is the word.”

“Good think I am not a man of Fódlan, then,” Claude told her.

“I keep forgetting that,” Petra laughed. She finished the drink in her hand, looking into the fire. “It is a shame that the people here think they are strange, because I love the marks of my people. They are a part of me. No man could love me without loving my marks, as well.”

“How many do you have, exactly?” Claude wondered.

“Hmmm,” Petra sighed. “I am not knowing. I have them all on my arms and back, and I got most of them years ago. I could not be telling you an exact number.”

“Have you ever tried to count?”

“I have never had a reason to,” Petra answered. She smiled. “I think I need another drink.”

“Me too,” Claude said, realizing his cup was empty. Petra stood up and offered Claude her hand, which he took with a smile. They walked together to the table that held the alcohol. It seemed like ever step there, someone wanted to stop Claude and wish him a happy birthday. Some were classmates, like Lysithea and Ignatz, while others, though he vaguely recognized them to be Golden Deer, were all but strangers to him. To keep him moving, Petra held Claude’s hand, making sure to gently tug him along if anyone kept him standing in one place for too long. “Thank you,” Claude whispered in her ear. “I can’t seem to get away from people tonight.”

Petra giggled. “Claude, now it is my turn to be reminding you of things I have already told you.” They had reached the drink table, so Petra paused to refill her cup and Claude’s with mead. “You are quite the popular guy. And not just with the Golden Deer. I think everyone is admiring you.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“But it is the truth!”

From the center of the clearing, a small group of students pulled out instruments and began to play a song. The other students cheered, with many of them forming pairs and starting to dance to the music. Petra squeezed Claude’s hand. “Dance with me?” she asked.

“I would love to,” Claude said with a smile. Petra smiled back, and Claude’s heart raced. He figured it must be the alcohol. Regardless, he quickly finished his drink, and Petra hers, before she took his other hand and led him into the circle of dancing students. Neither of them knew the steps, but that did not stop Petra. Her body seemed to instinctively move to the music, as she stepped and swayed to the exact beat. Petra’s dancing was wild and free. Claude had a hard time keeping up, but that made it all the more fun. The pair laughed together as the song ended. Petra had a beautiful smile.

“My turn!” Hilda announced, taking his hand as the next song started. Claude laughed as she pulled him away.

The music lasted long into the night. Claude took turns dancing with each of the girls in his class—even Marianne pulled away from her spot at the edge of the clearing with Dimitri to dance with Claude, though she quickly returned to the blonde prince’s side once the song was over. Some of the girls from the other Golden Deer classes—and even a few that were not Golden Deer—danced with Claude, as well. Claude only stopped dancing when he was offered another drink, then someone would pull him into aNother dance the second it was finished. Hours passed with Claude spinning in circles.

“You are clearly not used to our style of dancing,” Edelgard laughed as Claude stepped on her toes. They were hardly doing more than swaying, but the alcohol Claude had consumed was making it difficult for him to stand upright, let alone dance.

“It’s certainly different from what we do back home,” Claude chuckled. “But it makes it no less fun.”

“And where again is home, exactly?” Edelgard asked. Her tone was innocent enough, but Claude stiffened regardless, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “I know enough about your mother seeing as she was a Fódlan noble, but you grew up in your father’s homeland, right?” Claude’s heart was pounding in his chest. “How did your parents even meet?”

Her eyes were filled with intent. Claude swore he had seen this look on her face before.

But. . . He could not place where.

Claude smiled at Edelgard with as much grace as he could manage. He had been drinking quite a lot. Was that her plan all along? Was she hoping he was a loose-tongued drunk? If that was her intent, he was happy to disappoint her.

“Now, now,” he said sarcastically. “I thought this was a party, not an interrogation.”

“Who said anything about an interrogation?” Edelgard asked sweetly.

Claude leaned down and brushed his lips against Edelgard’s ear. “Bare your secrets, and I’ll bare mine.”

The song ended, though Claude was intending on walking away, anyway. He needed another drink. He needed another dance. Fuck it, it was his birthday, and he wanted to just have fun.

There were plenty of other friends to dance with. After some of his classmates stole him for a second—or third—dance, Claude danced with Mercedes, and her friend Annette, and Dorothea, as well. Even Ingrid stepped out of her triad to spin in circles with him to the music. Sometimes, in between, Petra would steal him again, making him laugh harder than he had laughed in days until another girl would take him again.

The whole world was spinning, and Claude felt light-headed. After his fourth dance with Hilda, he finally broke away to get some air. It was amazing, how much quieter the woods seemed, even just a few steps away from the clearing. Claude leaned against a tree, looking up at the clear night sky as he took deep breaths in, and out.

In, and out.

A twig snapped, alerting him that someone else was approaching. Petra staggered over, panting heavily. “What are you doing?” Claude asked with a slight slur. “A pretty girl like you should keep dancing.”

“I was needing a break as well,” Petra told him. She leaned up against a nearby tree, and together they tilted their heads up toward the stars. Claude closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Petra’s breaths slowing. “Claude?” she asked, several minutes later.

“What is it, Petra?” Claude replied, opening his eyes. Petra pushed herself off the tree and carefully walked towards him.

“I just remembered I have a birthday present for you.”

“Oh, do you?” Claude asked. “And what might that be?”

Petra giggled and shook her head. “I would be ruining the surprise if I told you,” she answered coolly. “Close your eyes.”

Claude laughed and shook his head, but otherwise did as he was told. He could hear Petra move in closer, feel her breath against his skin. She reached up with cold hands and took ahold of his face, pulling it down gently until she could reach his lips with hers. Claude’s breath caught in his throat. He had certainly not expected for Petra to kiss him, yet his hands moved toward her like it was all he ever wanted, wrapping around her waste and pulling her closer so he could kiss her deeper. Her lips tasted like honey, and her silky hair brushed softly against his face. She pulled away slightly, her eyes taking in the dumbfounded reaction on his face. She smiled, looking flustered, and Claude laughed nervously. Maybe it was the drinking, or the dancing, or maybe it was the fact that he wanted to forget about how rejected he felt by Byleth earlier that day, but he leaned forward and kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, Claude and Byleth are the endgame. I have not forgotten!!!!! But like everything else in this fic, I’m taking the long road. So there will be angst, and there will be pining. . . (Please don’t hate me in the meantime.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final preparations for the mission are made, and the day of the Rite of Rebirth finally arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told my Tumblr followers this already, but thanks to my boss surprising me with a week off (and therefore giving me more time for editing) I’ve decided to upload two chapters this week! Chapter 11 will be likely posted on Wednesday!!

Claude lay silently, watching the sky lighten as the sun began to rise. He hardly slept, the night air too cold for him to be comfortable, even with Petra snuggled up against his side. He glanced over at her and smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as she slept. The late-nighters had fallen asleep probably an hour or so prior, but Claude kept still, in case someone, like him, was still awake. Once the last of the stars winked out of view, Claude inched himself out of Petra’s arms and carefully stood up.

Teenagers lay sprawled out across the entire clearing, some huddled in groups, others in more intimate pairs. Once Claude put his shoes on, he grabbed the long-sleeved shirt from his satchel and pulled it over his head. Then, he tip-toed between sleeping bodies, hoping that no one would stir. When he was back in the trees, he ran. He didn’t have much time.

The rotation of the guards happened exactly one hour after sunrise. If Claude was quick, he could sneak into the monastery and slip into the Mausoleum while the rotation was occurring. Luckily, Edelgard had unwittingly saved him an hour of time by telling him about the hole in the wall behind the bathhouse. He would no longer need to scale the wall like he had initially intended.

When he reached the monastery wall, he set down his satchel and began his search. “Where the hell is that hole?” he muttered to himself.

“What hole?”

“Gods!” Claude exclaimed. He turned around. “How is it that you always manage to sneak up on me?”

“I am not knowing for certain,” Petra replied. “Though you are way too easy to spot. Why did you leave?”

Claude sputtered, gesturing vaguely toward the wall. “I’m doing a favor for Teach,” he finally said.

“By breaking the rules?” Petra guessed.

“She and I have an understanding.”

“Where are you going?”

“In. . . the monastery.”

“I am seeing that. But where?”

Claude groaned, then relented. “The Holy Mausoleum.”

Petra folded her arms. “It is protected by guards.”

“Not if I get in there in ten minutes.”

“Would you like a. . . What is the phrase? Seeing outward?”

“A lookout?”

“Yes! Let me be your lookout!”

“Petra,” Claude sighed. “You could get in serious trouble. And I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything because of—Because. . .”

“Because I kissed you last night?” Petra finished.

“Exactly,” Claude said. He liked Petra. She was a sweet girl, and very funny, too. And he _really_ enjoyed kissing her. But he wasn’t about to let her get into mischief because she was trying to impress him.

Petra smiled, looking around while swaying gently back and forth. “Maybe I have been thinking the officer’s academy has been too boring lately, and I would like to be doing something interesting. Even if not following the rules.” She approached Claude, rising slightly on her toes so her face was closer to his, then paused. She was asking for permission, Claude realized, to kiss him again. Tentative, Claude cupped the side of her face and pressed his lips against hers. Gods, her lips were so soft. Petra pulled away, looking rather satisfied with herself. “Besides,” she began again. “I cannot be letting you disappoint your professor.” She walked away from Claude, and he picked up his belongings to follow her, a little dumbfounded. An outcropping of overgrown bushes grew along the monastery wall a few paces away. When Petra moved some of the branches aside, the hole that Edelgard had described was suddenly in view. “Is this what you were looking for?”

“Maybe I _should_ rope you into more schemes from now on,” Claude said with a chuckle. Petra shrugged.

“Only if this one is exciting enough.”

Claude winked. “Then I’ll be sure to put on a show for you.” He crawled through the opening in the wall, and Petra followed. They crept through the empty open field, heading quickly towards the massive church building. Claude kept them on the outside path that led around the church rather than inside it, hoping to avoid any early-rising prayers. The outer path, thankfully, was empty. When the pair was relatively close to the mausoleum’s entrance, Claude halted. He peered around the corner, and saw two guards talking lightly with each other. “Damn,” he whispered. “We’re too late.”

“I am wondering, Claude. How were you going to be getting in and out anyway?”

“I was going to sneak in through the grate by the door. As far as getting out, there a window that can be seen from outside the monastery that I was going to climb down to make it back to the clearing by the time everyone started to wake up.”

“Then I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Petra walked past him.

“What—“

“Excuse me!” Petra called, catching the guards’ attention. “I am having troubles with directions. Could one of you be helping me?” She proceeded to effortlessly lead the two of them out of the hallway—not by much, mind you, as they still had jobs to do—ensuring that they were looking in the opposite direction so Claude could slip by. He was growing more impressed with the girl by the moment. He would have to be quick, though. He hastened to the door, pried open the rusted grate—wincing when it squeaked at the initial movement—then slipped under the hole, pulling his satchel through behind him. Once he replaced the grate and was standing up on the other side of the door, he looked around to assess his surroundings.

The corridor was incredibly. . . dull. Stone walls and a stone floor led downward along the only path, presumably to the catacombs. Claude was surprised to see a lit torch on a stand close by, despite the light coming in through the nearby window. Still, Claude wasn’t one to look a dead horse in the mouth. Not when he was in a hurry, at least. He took a moment to look at the window first. Peering outside, Claude confirmed a suspicion of his: it was easily large enough for a fully-armored soldier to climb through. Gods, why would a heavily-guarded area have an open window on the inside of the door?! High up or not, did the church not remember about wyverns?

Claude sighed. The class would have to find somewhere to hide and wait for the would-be assassins to enter the mausoleum. Easier said than done. Including himself and Byleth, there were nine of them altogether. Last Claude had checked, the three professors decided not to trade students again since they were all in the monastery, anyway. So at least he did not have to worry about stashing extra bodies into corners. Given the state of the window, however, their hiding place would have to be within the door. Claude took the torch and walked down the hall. He would have to continue his window analysis later, by means of field testing.

It was a wonder that there were no guards further down to the crypt. Claude tiptoed down the winding staircase, listening intently for signs of other living beings. Save for the rats, he found nothing.

About halfway down to the crypt, a wooden door hanging off its hinges caught Claude’s attention. He moved the splintering door aside. The space beyond it was barely shoulder wide, so to be safe, Claude turned sideways and inched in. The door had once closed off a small room that contained nothing more than a small alter to the goddess. Candles burned down to the end of the wick clung tightly to the stone pedestal that held a palm-sized statue of a woman extending her hands, whose tiny features had been smoothed away with the passage of time. A small square _something_ lay on the floor just in font of it. Claude wondered if it had once been a cushion to kneel on in prayer, but it was so decomposed and covered in dust that it now just looked like an part of the floor that someone had forgotten to level out.

Claude gauged the size of the room, counting paces in width and length. It would be a tight squeeze, sure, and getting Raphael’s hulking frame through the entrance would require quite a bit of patience, but Claude concluded that the nine of them could stand each other long enough to wait for intruders in the room. Satisfied, he inched back out of the entryway. When he turned back up the stairs, something stopped him. That stupid nagging sensation wanted him to go down, not up. He had to get back out to the woods. No doubt some of the early risers would be stirring from their blankets soon. But the crypt was so close. . . Claude just had to know what could be so important down there.

“Fine, fine,” he growled to himself, whipping around so he was climbing down the stairs once more. “Just one look.”

The solitude of the mausoleum seemed magnified when Claude reached the crypt itself. It’s ceilings were too high up for the light of his torch to reach, and Claude could barely make out the end of the room where the singular tomb lay. Claude gulped. He took a step forward.

The air was cold. Colder than what should have been possible this deep into summer. Claude told himself that it was because no light could reach down this far, and none of the braziers lining the center path to the tomb were lit. That was the logical answer. But that was not what sent a shiver down Claude’s spine as he approached the coffin.

Something felt off. Claude had been in more tombs than most seventeen—_eighteen_—year-olds could boast about. Some had been crowded with bodies like a mass grave, others were more centric on a singular figure like this one. But none had quite the same air as this. There was something ritualistic about the way the tomb was carved. Etchings of an ancient language lined the rim, and below it were images telling the story of Seiros’s life, carved deeply into the stone. The etchings were not in the least bit faded, looking utterly untouched by time. Claude set down his torch, forcing his fingers between the body of the coffin and the lid.

And he lifted.

A surge of electricity had Claude on his back in an instant, gasping for air. He coughed, forcing himself up with shaking hands and limbs.

So, the coffin really _was_ sealed by magic. Aggressive magic, at that. Claude was not sure if he should be pleased that the rumors were true or disappointed that he would be unable to take a peak at the body inside. No matter. He had enough to report to Byleth. And he really had wasted more time than he ought to. When he was able to stand again, limbs still shaking slightly from the shock, Claude took his torch and ran back up the stairs, back to the open window.

He felt much safer with the tomb behind him.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Claude returned the torch to its stand and shifted his satchel across his shoulders. He pulled out the rope he had stashed in there, which had a metal hook tied to one end, and another tied about a foot further down. He drove the hook on the edge of the rope in between the stones lining the window then gave the rope a tug, relieved when the hook remained solidly in place. The other end, he tied to his waist. The stones were uneven enough that Claude could climb the whole way down without losing stamina, and he did not want to leave evidence of his entry in case someone decided to visit the tomb before the Rite of Rebirth. He slung his legs over the windowsill and began his descent. As he climbed lower, he drove the second hook into the stone, then removed the higher hook in order to force it between another set of stones lower down. Claude was not very fond of the idea of slipping to his death that high up. He reached the bottom as fast as he could manage, untying the rope and shoving it back in his satchel as he ran. The sun was rising rapidly in the sky.

When he reached the trees, he found Petra sitting on the ground waiting for him. She leapt up, keeping pace with him as he rushed toward the clearing.

“I was becoming nervous,” she said. “When you were not appearing quickly.”

“I got distracted,” Claude panted, “but everything is fine. I wasn’t caught.”

The pair slowed their pace as they neared the clearing. Claude rested his hands on his knees and breathed deeply in and out, his lungs burning. Petra giggled. “Are you not used to running, Claude?” she asked playfully.

“It’s not that. The air was cold in the crypt, and when I tried to open the coffin—“

“You were trying to open a coffin?”

“It’s a long story.” Claude looked up at Petra and smiled mischievously. She crossed her arms in reply.

“You are having a strange relationship with Professor Byleth if she is asking you to break into the resting place of the dead.”

“Technically, that part was my own idea. I can’t get into the details quite yet, though. It might compromise our mission.”

Petra raised her eyebrows, an amused smile on her face. “You give me much intrigue,” she said. Claude straightened up and approached her. He was feeling a slight high from his wall climb and the run. His blood was pumping. And he wanted to kiss her again. But they had been drunk, _so_ drunk when she kissed him. Even that morning, he was not sure if the kiss she gave him had been a genuine sign of affection or a lingering remnant of the night before. As if reading his thoughts, Petra laced her fingers through his. “Come,” she whispered, that little smile still on her face. “We must be hurrying”

She led him back to the clearing, holding his hand the whole way. Claude asked her about Brigid, and she told him of the trees and the animals and the people she missed dearly. They were still holding hands when they reached the clearing. Their classmates were in various stages of consciousness. Some had begun to light fires, pulling out bacon and eggs smuggled from the church kitchens and whispering in hushed tones to each other, while others had not yet left their blanket cocoons. Edelgard was among the students who were already awake, and she was the first to notice Claude and Petra’s return.

“Well,” she said, her voice rugged from sleep. “I was beginning to wonder where you two had gone, but I guess this has answered my question.”

Petra let go of Claude’s hand, her face becoming flushed. “We were just talking. Nobody was awake yet, and we were not wanting to disturb their sleep.”

Edelgard gave Claude a look that said she _certainly_ did not believe what Petra told her. “Well, whatever you were doing,” she said flatly, not taking her eyes off Claude, “I just hope you were careful, Petra.” Claude smiled at her, hoping his expression did not give away his nerves. There was no way Edelgard knew what they were doing, not that it mattered much, but he had a strong suspicion on what Edelgard assumed they had left the group for. He hoped this wouldn’t lead to a “break her heart and I’ll kill you” speech later.

He wasn’t quite sure if he had forgiven her for snooping into his past the night before, either.

“Do I smell bacon?” Claude asked. He took Petra’s hand again, his smile broadening at Edelgard’s reaction. “Come on,” he said to Petra. “Let’s get breakfast.”

The students all stirred within the hour, the later ones eating the remnants of breakfast while the early-risers packed up their belongings and rinsed their mouths in a nearby stream. Bit by bit, they began to leave, in hopes that the trickle back into the monastery would not be as obvious as a group of fifty-plus teenagers appearing all at once. Claude decided that was another benefit of the opening in the wall being by the bathhouse, as it would just look like everyone was coming from there rather than the town or the woods. Hilda eyed Claude and Petra all during breakfast, a cocky grin spread wide on her face. When they were ready, the three of them snuck back into the monastery together. Hilda talked the whole time about her personal highlights of the night. No one mentioned the fact the Petra was still holding Claude’s hand.

There were no classes being held that day, so they headed towards the dorms rather than the classrooms. Byleth was leaving her quarters just as the three of them passed by. She looked at Claude. Looked at his hand. Then marched towards the training grounds. For some reason, Claude’s stomach clenched, though he could not tell why. Byleth was his teacher, after all. It was none of her business whose hand he held. Claude dropped Hilda off at her room so she could take, what she called, “a well-deserved morning nap.” Petra was still holding his hand. He did not want her to let go. Together they went to his room. Just to talk, Claude told himself. He wanted to hear more stories of Brigid.

They spent the entire morning kissing instead.

“Good shot,” Shamir said, a smirk on her face. Claude rolled his eyes and laughed. His arrow lay flat on the ground, several inches away from the target. “It’s okay. We can try again.”

“My aim is shit without my other eye,” Claude groaned. Still, he picked up the arrow and marched back to where he had been standing, ready to take aim.

Shamir pushed off of the wall she had been leaning on and approached him. “Your eye is looking a lot better than it did a week ago. It’s no longer bloodshot. Is your vision blurry?”

“Not usually. But I get a headache if I focus on something in the distance for too long.”

Shamir frowned. “Have you told Manuela?”

“It’s not worth noting,” Claude assured her.

“You mean you don’t want to tell her?” Shamir guessed. “You don’t want to appear weak.”

“I thought you volunteered to help me regain my bow skills, not to be my therapist,” Claude laughed.

“They may not be too far from each other in this case,” Shamir noted. When Claude said nothing in reply, she sighed. “Look, kid. I’ve been fighting for years, you’ve only been learning to be a soldier for a few months. So I’ll give you a little piece of wisdom. People get injured. They take time to recover. That doesn’t make you weak, just human. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Yeah, well, it sure as hell feels like it. I’m the house leader. I need to be better by the Rite of Rebirth, and that’s only a few days away. Otherwise I’ll just feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

“You will be better,” Shamir told him. “_If_ you go get the healing you need. Nobody is going to think worse of you for it.”

Claude gritted his teeth. He stared at the target, bow still positioned in his hand. “Let me try to hit the target one more time. Then I’ll go.”

“I suppose I can allow that,” Shamir said with a smirk. She took a step back as Claude readied his bow. He took a deep breath, straining through the pain in his eye. After all, a good soldier would press onward.

And fired.

The air was tense on the day of the Rite of Rebirth. Hundreds of strangers poured in through the gates of the monastery, all to witness the annual ceremony and to pray as one for the return of their goddess. Nobility and commoners alike arrived in their finest clothing, in stark contrast to the students dressed in armor. Claude frowned at a couple as they pushed past him, clamoring to get a good seat in church before anyone else. _Religious fanatics_, he thought with annoyance. He checked the strap on his gauntlet for what was probably the third of fourth time. Any of these people could be the “assassins” they were looking for. And the rest were mindless zealots. The thought made his stomach turn. He wanted to be out of the crowded walkway as soon as possible.

Claude made a sharp left just before the church doors, walking the same way that he had walked with Petra a few days prior toward the entrance to Holy Mausoleum. His classmates and Byleth were already waiting for him, each of them looking as nervous as Claude felt. Except for Byleth, of course. She was leaning against the wall, fingering the hilt of her sword as she casually watched the church guests clamoring into the sanctuary, her face as unreadable as ever. Claude gulped when she looked at him, feeling that same drop in his stomach from when she first saw him and Petra holding hands. He quickly smiled, hoping she could not tell how he was feeling on the inside.

“The Rite of Rebirth should be starting soon, so I’m glad to see that we are all here,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. Byleth was still staring at him, but so was everyone else now. That took some of the pressure of off Claude. “I saw Seteth and his sister coming in a few paces behind me. I figure once the attention is on them and Rhea, we can get in through the doors without raising any suspicion.”

“What is suspicious, dare I ask?” Seteth asked as he approached. Flayn remained close by his side, her curled hair bouncing slightly as she moved.

“I was telling Teach that I haven’t seen any suspicious figures out, but that we should remain vigilant,” Claude said, not missing a beat. Seteth looked unimpressed, but that was nothing new. The older man stroked his beard as he looked beyond Claude at Byleth.

“Professor,” he began. “I should not need to remind you how important this mission is, as Lady Rhea’s very life is at stake on this day. As one who is employed by the church and therefore poses as a religious role-model to her students, I hope that you are taking this as seriously as the rest of us.”

“Of course I am, Seteth,” Byleth assured him. Seteth nodded.

“The ceremony is about to begin. Come, Flayn. Be sure not to leave my side.” Seteth walked into the church, but his younger sister hesitated for a moment.

“My brother has a harsh way of speaking, but he hopes that you will be careful if things go south. We all do, Professor.”

“Flayn!” Seteth called. Flayn jumped then rushed to catch up to him.

“Yikes,” Hilda muttered behind Claude. “And I thought my older brother was over-bearing.”

Claude snickered. He had had the same thought before. Seteth’s protectiveness over Flayn was more like that of a parent than a sibling, though that could have been the by-product of their parents dying young and Seteth having to raise her. They were a strange pair, though, Seteth and Flayn. Very strange indeed.

From inside the sanctuary, Rhea’s voice called for the beginning of the prayer. Everyone in the building began to bow their heads and chant together while the choir sang its usual solemn tune. Claude inched closer to Byleth. “Come on, Teach,” he said to her, keeping his eyes on the hundreds of people praying together. “Once we get inside the door, I can get us to a hidden spot near the end of the stairs that leads to the Holy Mausoleum. We’ll be able to catch anyone sneaking in from there.”

“I never got the chance to ask you how your ‘research’ went the other day,” Byleth said casually. “Every time I’ve seen you, you have been rather preoccupied.”

Claude ignored the questioning look in Byleth’s eyes. Yes, he had been spending a lot of time with Petra, but it wasn’t like he was spending every second of the day with her or anything. Swallowing down the urge to be defensive, Claude continued, “All I found was a large room and a stone coffin sealed by magic. Powerful magic, at that. We can discuss it in more detail later.”

“I would like that,” Byleth said, her tone empty as her expression. That somehow made Claude feel more flustered. Byleth turned to the other students. “Ready?” she asked them. They each nodded in reply. Byleth opened the door, ushering them in one by one. The sky was dark, but there were more torches lit along the wall than there had been when Claude was last in the stone hallway. He assumed it was in case tourists found their way down there. It would be bad publicity if someone tripped in the darkness and snapped their neck while falling down the flights of stairs. Claude moved closer to the window as his classmates piled in behind him, and realized there was a rope secured to a grappling hook dangling from the window.

“Shit!” he whispered, looking hurriedly toward his professor. “We’re too late, they’re already here.” He ran down the hallway, and Byleth quickly caught up. Claude hoped the other students would take the hint and run after them. If the invaders had already reached the tomb. . . Claude and Byleth halted at the bottom of the stairs, gaping at the large room spotted with disguised soldiers, all dressed alike save for two men: one with his face covered by a hood and a beaked mask, who was chanting incoherently in front of the coffin, and the other a man wearing a skull-looking mask who stood in the center of the room. Fear gripped Claude as he looked into the man’s mask, his heart racing. The little voice in his head was telling him to avoid that man at all costs. Something about him gave the feeling of death itself. And Claude was getting sick of all of these damn masks. His classmates caught up to them at the base of the stairs just as the invading soldiers were becoming aware of their presence and rushing forward.

“Protect the mage until he gets it open!” one of the soldiers commanded. Claude could see the knight of death slowly raise his weapon.

“We never really came up with a backup plane for this situation,” Byleth said hurriedly.

“Charge the mage and avoid the scary guy in the middle of the room?” Claude suggested.

“Sounds good enough to me.” Byleth raised her weapon and charged ahead.

Lorenz, Hilda, and Raphael followed, with Lysithea and Marianne close behind. Leonie and Ignatz hung back, launching arrows at the oncoming soldiers at Claude’s command to create a path for Byleth to reach the mage. Once the soldiers reached the rest of the students, it became more difficult to fire arrows without risk of hitting an ally instead. Claude had Leonie and Ignatz meet them, since they had brought close-range weapons as well.

Claude hung back, not wanting to take his eye off of the man in the center of the room. The fighting remained clear of him, thank the gods, but Claude was unsettled by the way the man just watched them fight. He held his weapon ready, but otherwise did not move. Not even when Byleth started to break through the barrier of his fellow soldiers. If Claude had not been in the crypt before, he would have thought the man was a statue.

The others quickly made a pathway for Byleth, then kept the remaining soldiers from chasing after her while Byleth charged the mage. But it was too late. Just before Byleth reached him, a resounding _crack_ echoed in the chamber. Byleth halted, as did everyone else in the room, at the jarring noise. “You’re too late!” The mage called tauntingly as he opened the coffin lid. “The seal is broken, and at last I—“ The mage stopped, seeming confused. The hesitation gave Byleth enough time to collect herself, and she rushed toward him once again.

Claude started running, too.

The mage shoved his hand in the coffin, pulling out something Claude could not quite make out at his distance. It must have been a sword, based on the way the mage held it to face Byleth. Claude forced himself to run faster. He was no expert on religion, but if that sword had been magically-sealed in a coffin under the church, that could mean trouble for Byleth. The mage raised the sword towards her, but Byleth was fast. She swung her own sword upward, the blow knocking the blade out of the mage’s hands, and Byleth caught it in her own. She stumbled backward, seemingly by the weight of the thing. In Byleth’s hands, Claude could tell the sword was _enormous_. The mage pressed his hands together, forming a ball of fire as he separated them, then launching it at Byleth.

“Teach, no!” Claude cried frantically. He was mere feet from her now, but not close enough to push her out of the way if she didn’t—

Byleth swung the long blade, and the fireball disintegrated.

The blade was glowing in Byleth’s hands, pulsating an eerie red-orange light. A phantom flame licked the edges of the blade, but did not seem to burn Byleth at all. Byleth examined it, a look of confusion quickly replaced by determination. She dropped her own sword and gripped the new blade with both hands. The mage threw another ball of fire at her, and she deflected it again, this time with a cry of rage. 

The mage backed up slowly until he hit the wall behind him. He looked around frantically. Instinctively, Claude looked behind him to see if the knight of death would seize the opportunity to attack from behind. But the man was gone completely.

Clearly panicked, the mage forged a barrier of light between him and Byleth. Claude watched as Byleth raised the massive blade, still glowing in her hands, and swung it at the man. His barrier was broken in seconds, and in one swift movement, Byleth cut the man down as well. He crumpled to the floor, and Byleth stood panting over him as he died. The blade was gripped so tightly in her hands that she was shaking. She sighed, taking a step back. Claude carefully approached her. By the silence in the room, the fighting was over, whether because his classmates had subdued all of the soldiers, or they had surrendered at the sight of the spectacle, Claude did not care. He was fixated on the blade in Byleth’s hands.

On top of being one of the largest swords Claude had ever seen, it also had an unsettlingly unique design. The blade was jagged on one side, looking like teeth. And it was made of a pale material that Claude had never seen before. Certainly not any kind of metal. Up close, it almost looked like bone. In the center of the handle was a hole the size of Claude’s fist, beveled as if something was supposed to be there, but wasn’t. Claude knew that blade. He knew the design, he knew the history. He knew the power of the Sword of the Creator. And here it was, right in front of him. In his professor’s hands.

“Teach. . .” Claude whispered, but a clamor at the door pulled their attention. Catherine ran down the stairs, followed by some of the knights under her command. They looked ready for a fight, until of course, they realized the fighting was all done and over with. Catherine barked at her knights to arrest the remaining enemy soldiers being held by Claude’s classmates. She herself walked towards Byleth.

“We heard the large crack, and feared the worst. But it looks like you got everything handled. . .” Her eyes were fixated on the sword glowing in Byleth’s hands. “Professor,” she said, “I didn’t know you had a relic of your own.”

“I don’t,” Byleth said, though she did not seem quite convinced of her own words. Catherine looked behind her, frowning at the open coffin. Claude looked at it, too, though with an easier view. The coffin was empty. No body, no remains at all. The only thing that had been in there was the sword in Byleth’s hands.

“You should come with me,” she said. “Rhea will want to speak with you after dealing with the intruders.” She tugged gently on Byleth’s arm, but Byleth widened her stance to stop.

“I need to check on my students first,” she insisted. “I’ll meet you up in the audience chamber.”

Catherine looked like she wanted to argue with her, but the glowing sword between them made it difficult. Even Catherine’s sword would have looked minor in comparison. She gave Byleth a curt nod, then walked back towards her knights. After they left, Byleth headed for the other students, and Claude numbly followed, his mind distracted.

How the hell was the sword glowing in her hands?

The students were standing in a circle, watching Byleth carefully as she approached. Marianne was healing a wound on Lorenz’s shoulder, but otherwise they all seemed relatively unharmed. “Is everyone okay?” Byleth asked.

“We’re fine,” Ignatz replied. “What. . . Umm, what is that, professor?”

“A sword,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Catherine seems to think it’s a Holy Relic, which I suppose makes sense, seeing as it was sealed in the coffin.”

“Did it belong to Seiros? It must have if it was in there with her body—“

“There was no body,” Claude said, his hands crossed over his chest. “Just the sword.”

Hilda visibly shivered. “Can we get out of here?” she asked. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Yes,” Byleth said. “You should all go get some rest. We can do a debrief tomorrow. I’ll have to go meet with Lady Rhea before I know everything that happened outside of this room, anyway. You’re all dismissed.”

The students stood there for a moment, all looking at her with wide eyes. Byleth seemed so calm, as if she didn’t just reignite an ancient power that had been forgotten by time before their very eyes. Claude himself wondered if it was an act, to keep them from worrying. “Come on, guys,” Leonie whispered. She picked up her lance and walked toward the door. One by one, the others followed. Claude started to take up the rear when Byleth caught his shoulder.

“Stay,” Byleth whispered, so low Claude could barely hear her. There was a hint of desperation in her voice. Claude complied, though he waited for everyone else to disappear from his view before he turned to face her. Her eyes were downcast, staring at the weapon that she still held. With trembling hands, she held the sword out towards Claude. “Hold this for a second?”

Claude nodded, tenderly taking the blade into his own hands. The glow disappeared the moment it left Byleth’s fingertips, leaving Claude with a twinge of disappointment.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Byleth murmured. She removed her coat and wrapped it around the blade before taking it into her hands again, this time holding it more like a child than a sword. Claude could barely stand the silence between them, but he could not think of what to say. “Come with me to meet with Rhea,” Byleth finally said.

“I’m not really sure if the archbishop would like that.”

“I don’t really care if she does,” Byleth snapped. Her eyes widened, as if she suddenly realized what she had just said. How treasonous that would sound to the wrong ears. “I mean,” she backtracked. “I do not know how the church will react to this. React to me. I don’t even really know what happened. I need someone who has an eye for things most people don’t see to help me fill in the blanks.” Her eyes crinkled, though very faintly. Claude sighed in resignation.

“We should hurry, then,” he said. “I can’t see Lady Rhea being okay waiting for us for too long.”

Byleth nodded, cradling the sword closer to her chest. Claude wondered why she was suddenly so possessive over this thing. Regardless, he kept his mouth shut. Questions would have to wait. He gestured for Byleth to lead the way, then followed her silently up the stairs. The sound of clamoring increased when they reached the door at the top of the stairs. Based on the scene when they stepped outside, the attempt on Rhea’s life had been real, though not successful. Guests chattered nervously about the attack as knights tried in as orderly of a way as possible to usher them out of the church and off the monastery grounds. Byleth clutched the Sword of the Creator even tighter as she looked at the chaos.

“Come on,” Claude whispered in her ear. He took her by the elbow and guided her along the side passage toward the bridge, where they had no chance but to merge with the crowd. Claude put his arm around his professor so as to not lose her, and she leaned into him gratefully. Her eyes blankly stared forward. Keeping his mind on the task at hand, Claude continued to lead her across the bridge and up the stairs towards the audience chamber.

Byleth removed herself from Claude’s arms, straightening her shoulders and hardening her gaze. Two knights stood at attention by the closed doors, and they were watching the pair intently. When they recognized Byleth, they stomped their spears twice then opened the doors. Byleth stepped in confidently, and Claude tried to mirror her. Once they were in, the knights closed the doors behind them.

Rhea, Seteth, and Shamir stood before the imprisoned soldiers, all now in chains. Shamir was reading off the list of crimes they had committed by instigating Lonato’s rebellion, threatening Rhea’s life, breaking into the Holy Mausoleum and opening Saint Seiros’s tomb. “As followers of the Western Church, you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“We have nothing to do with the Western Church,” one of the imprisoned men argued.

“You have already been identified,” Seteth said, cutting him off. “Spare us your lies.”

Claude frowned, but otherwise kept his mouth shut. He had heard word that the Western Church was having disagreements with Rhea as of late, but how could they know that was where these men had truly come from?

“Dishonoring a holy ceremony is worthy of death for a member of the church. You are well past the hope of redemption,” Rhea continued. Her voice was harsh and stern, which Claude did not expect. Any time she spoke in front of him, or the other students, her voice was always light and gentle. Almost passive, even. “If you have any grace remaining, you will willingly offer your lives as atonement for this crime.”

The room erupted into argument, with the men crying that there was a mistake, or that Rhea was misidentifying them. Surprisingly, though, none of the men asked for mercy. Claude was unsure whether it was a manner of pride, or something else. Men often asked for mercy following a death sentence. Why were these men different?

“The punishment stands, no matter your excuses,” Shamir asserted, gripping the hilt of her blade.

“May your souls find peace and return to the goddess.” With Rhea’s final words, Shamir signaled to the guards, and they led the men away. One of the men yelled, “the goddess will never forgive you for our execution!” Something in his tone indicated that Rhea should know why, though Claude had no inkling of what that reason might be. The other men called Rhea a monster, along with several other insults that were seldom slung at a woman in her position. Claude gritted his teeth, unsettled by the whole affair. It was only after the prisoners were escorted away that Rhea seemed to notice Claude and Byleth in the room, and her expression softened a bit.

“I am sorry that you had to see that,” she said, her voice suddenly in the gentle—albeit tired—sounding tones that Claude was used to. “Passing judgement on the unholy is never a light burden to bear.” She gestured to the pair, and they stepped forward. “I can assure you both that the issue is being taken care of, however. We have already send out knights to subdue the Western Church’s leaders and avoid any further acts of rebellion. The monastery will finally begin to feel peaceful again.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Byleth replied, much to Claude’s relief. He was not quite sure if he was able to speak in respectful tones at the moment.

Rhea smiled kindly at the professor. “I cannot thank you enough for defeating those invaders in the Holy Mausoleum, and especially for protecting the Sword of the Creator.” She hesitated, a determined gleam in her eye. “Catherine said. . . May I see you wield it, Byleth?” Her words were calm, but her stance was eager. The look on her face reminded Claude of Raphael when he was in front of a buffet. Byleth steeled herself, slowly unwrapping the coat from around the sword and grasping its hilt. The sword glowed that ominous orange-red color again, and somehow managed to be more terrifying to Claude than it had been in the rush of the battle. Rhea gasped in amazement, her hands hovering over the sword, though she did not touch it. Remembering herself, she quickly put her hands back down and took a step back. “That sword is the most precious artifact in the church’s possession, and it is also a weapon of terrifying power.” The power to cut a mountain in half. Or a nation-long wall, Claude thought to himself. She seemed to consider something briefly. “If the sword glows in your hands, then that means your crest is compatible with it. Therefore, I will entrust the sword to you. I only ask that you use it wisely.”

Seteth looked at her with open astonishment “Lady Rhea,” he said with a clenched jaw.“May I please speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Of course,” Rhea replied, her voice unwavering and her expression confident. She allowed Seteth to lead her into the side room connected to the audience chamber. Claude glance at Byleth. Based on the look on her face, she already knew what he was going to ask. With narrowing eyes, she nodded her head. Claude snuck closer to listen. “Do you truly mean to give the Sword of the Creator to this stranger?!” Seteth hissed. “Surely it is not the sort of thing one hands over so readily, even to someone who has the ability to wield it! If someone like Nemesis were to appear again, all of Fódlan would be consumed by war!”

Claude recalled the name of Nemesis with ease, as he was a common figure in stories of the Holy Relics. He had been nicknamed the King of Liberation, for apparently he saved Fódlan from the attacks of “wicked gods” using the Sword of the Creator—the sword currently in Byleth’s hands—gifted to him by the goddess. Most stories of him ended by saying the power of the sword corrupted him and he turned to darkness, forcing Seiros to destroy him. Claude wondered what that meant for Byleth’s future. “Lady Rhea, I beg you to reconsider. Given a little more time, we could more accurately assess this stranger’s abilities.”

“No,” Rhea whispered back, her voice assertive. “I have faith, Seteth. Faith that Byleth will not be corrupted by wickedness.” It sounded like she sighed. “Since the death of Nemesis, none have been able to wield the Sword of the Creator. Not even you or I. Now, after all those long years of being sealed away, it has returned and found a new master.” There was something in her voice that indicated there was a double meaning in her words. Seteth was quiet for a moment.

“As you wish, Lady Rhea. But if this goes south—“ Claude hurried back to Byleth’s side, acting as if he had been there the entire time. Seteth and Rhea returned moments later. “The sword will remain in your hands for now, Professor,” Seteth said. His voice was tight, as if each word was putting a strain on him. “See that you do not betray the trust the archbishop has seen fit to bestow upon you.”

“I will treat this gift with the utmost care,” Byleth replied.

Rhea smiled and Seteth’s eyes narrowed. “You must be tired. Both of you. See to it that you rest well tonight.”

Byleth bowed to Lady Rhea, and Claude followed suit before turning to leave the room.“Seteth didn’t want me to have the sword, am I right?” Byleth whispered after they left the room. The pair stopped walking.

“That’s the gist of it,” Claude told her. He summarized the details for her, especially the point about Nemesis. He then had to explain who Nemesis was to Byleth, as she had never heard his name before. Sometimes, Claude swore the woman grew up under a rock. “I honestly cannot believe you know nothing about the man. Especially considering, well. . .”

“Considering what?”

“Crests are genetic,” Claude began to explain. “Not every child of a crest bearer will bear a crest themselves, but a person who bears a crest can only be the descendant of a crest bearer. The Sword of the Creator would react only to the crest that Nemesis bore. The crest that you bear, Teach. That must mean that you are his descendant.”

Byleth pondered his words in silence. She wrapped the Sword of the Creator in her coat once more, and the orange-red glow disappeared. “If that is why Seteth was hesitant to give me the sword, I don’t blame him. I am not so sure that I deserve a weapon such as this.”

“Why not?” Claude asked. He could hardly contain his frustration as he looked at the sword again. The Sword of the Creator. . . Pulled right from the legends. The sword Claude had been searching for since he came to Fódlan over a year ago. He finally found it, and yet it ended up in Byleth’s hands instead of his. Had it been in anyone else’s possession, he likely would have stolen it in the middle of the night and returned home with it, never to be seen again. That was part of the reason he was so careful to not reveal where he had grown up, after all. Nobody would be able to find him. Even if it would never glow in his hands, it was bound to do something for him. . . Right?

But it belonged to Byleth now. He could not explain why, but he knew he would not be able to do that to her, even if he had wanted to. What a cruel twist of fate, that the Sword would be compatible with the crest she bore.

“I can’t explain it,” Byleth said to him, “but I have a feeling there is more to this blade than the story you just told me about Nemesis. Something about it rings false to me, and. . .” She sighed, looking suddenly weary. Byleth pressed a hand to her forehead. “I feel as though we have become tangled in a mystery.”

“‘We’?” Claude asked, furrowing his brow. Byleth looked at him, eyes wide.

“Sorry. I did not mean to say ‘we.’ I don’t know why I said that.” She shook her head. “It must be this headache. I have been getting them more and more lately.”

“Maybe you should get some rest, then,” Claude said to her.

Byleth nodded numbly. “Perhaps you are right. I’ll see myself to my room, if you don’t mind. Goodnight, Claude.” She turned and left without another word, the Sword of the Creator clutched to her heart.

Claude gulped, watching her leave with his fists clenched. His mind was reeling, memories of intentions long forgotten in lieu of his own death threat coming to the front of his brain, only to be crushed by the circumstances at hand. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to breathe in deeply. When his heart rate had slowed, he walked down the stairs and toward his room. The air was cold, and the monastery silent, in stark contrast to the scene that had been occurring just an hour earlier.

Claude looked up at the night sky, thinking not for the first time that maybe he had made a mistake moving to Fódlan. It was supposed to be easier here, not harder. Claude sighed to himself. _No_, he thought. _You’ve been through worse. You just have to keep pressing onward. Like you always do._

He stopped by Petra’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and the light was on. He peered inside, checking to see if she was alone. She was sitting on her bed, a book in her lap, mouthing the words silently to herself. Claude smiled, despite his foul mood. “Knock, knock,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

Petra looked up, setting her book down on the bed beside her. When she saw who had spoken, she flung open the door and threw her arms around him. “I heard about the mausoleum,” she whispered against his hair. “The professor—“

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Petra took a step back, pulling Claude further into the room. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor comes to Garreg Mach and takes Claude on a journey. When Claude returns, he finally starts reading the book Byleth gave him for his birthday.

Claude trudged down the dormitory hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had been up late the night before, laying with Petra on her bed, talking about their own perspectives of the day’s mission and the events that they saw took place. That and, well, kissing. There was lots of kissing. There always was with Petra. And once Claude started kissing her, he found it hard to stop. If Dorothea had not barged in somewhere around midnight—and made _way_ too big of a deal about the placement of Claude’s hands—he probably would have fallen asleep in her arms.

For now, though, kissing would have to wait. Claude had laid awake for an hour or so after returning to his room, processing the fact that Byleth now had the Sword of Creator, and plotting ways to learn more about it without alerting her. He would not take it from her, but that didn’t mean he was going to forget about it completely. Maybe when the time was right, he could just convince her to give him a favor. . . 

That train of thought led to him grabbing his book from Byleth off of his shelf. He hadn’t read any of it until that point, but if there was any place that he would learn more about the Sword of the Creator, maybe it would be in the book of original myths? Claude hoped to find out sooner rather than later. He had only gotten three pages in before sleep overtook him.

Now, he was walking toward Byleth’s room. No doubt Hanneman would want to take up most of her day with crest experiments, to investigate its connection to the Sword of the Creator. If Claude of all people had figured out the mystery, then it was only a matter of time before the church’s crest expert put the pieces together, as well. Claude wanted to get some time in with Byleth before that happened.

When he knocked on her door, Byleth did not answer. Claude frowned. Byleth usually was in her room that early in the morning. He absently wondered if she was in her private garden having tea with Leonie, or something. As long as Hanneman had not already gotten ahold of her. Claude walked in the direction of the garden, and sure enough, heard two familiar voices talking.

Only, one of the voices was _not_ one that Claude expected to hear.

“If it isn’t my little Claude! I didn’t expect you to be awake so early in the morning,” Judith beamed. She was lounging on one of the benches across from Byleth, who had a very amused grin on her face.

“Judith,” Claude said, poorly hiding his confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s ‘Lady’ Judith to you, boy. You ought to address me with at least some respect before you become the Alliance’s leader.” She shifted to face Claude more directly. “I’ve been having the most wonderful chat with your professor, here. She tells me that you’ve been causing quite a bit of trouble for her.”

“Oh, did she?” Claude asked. He hoped his smile looked genuine. And relaxed. He didn’t feel relaxed. Judith knew more about Claude than anyone else in Fódlan, and by far had the most dirt on him. When Claude turned to Byleth, her eyes were crinkled and the corners of her mouth were tipped up slightly. That expression oddly relieved him.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t told her anything that she didn’t already know about you,” Byleth teased.

“I doubt there’s much that Judith doesn’t know about me,” Claude laughed forcefully. It was the other way around that worried him. He turned back to Judith. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re _here at the monastery_.”

“Duke Riegan isn’t doing well,” Judith said, putting a pit in Claude’s stomach. “He won’t be able to make it to the next roundtable conference, and he wants you to go in his stead.”

“My grandfather? He’s not. . . on his death bed, is he?” Claude asked. He certainly hoped that was not the case. He was not ready to lead a country by any means.

“No, no,” Judith assured him. “Nothing like that. He will surely recover, just not in time for the meeting.” She finished the contents in her cup then sighed. “It’ll probably be good for you, anyway. Wouldn’t want to lose your skills of negotiation now, would you?” The sarcasm was thick in her words, and Claude smirked.

“So you got demoted from Lady Judith, Hero of House Daphnel to a schoolboy’s messenger, then?” he asked playfully. Judith’s gaze shifted into a glare, and he knew he was going to pay for that comment later. Still, Judith was the most amusing when she was angry, and if they were going to visit his grandfather, the trip was going to be a long one.

“You better shut that mouth before I put my boot in it, you tactless nuisance,” she warned. Then, turning to Byleth, “Does he treat you this way, as well?”

“Actually, this is the least charming I’ve ever seen him,” Byleth replied with a chuckle.

“Typical,” Judith said. She stood up and smiled at Byleth. “It was lovely talking with you. Maybe I will return with the boy, and you and I can get some sword practice in. I would love to see you in action.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Byleth said politely.

Judith turned to Claude, an eyebrow raised. “Let’s go, we have no time to waste.”

“But I need to get my things—“

“You have spare clothes at your grandfather’s estate, and you won’t have time for leisure while we are gone. Your professor here has been kind enough to alert the staff to ready a horse for you, and we will barely make it to the capital in time for the meeting as it is.”

“Okay, okay,” Claude said quickly. Judith had a look on her face that said she would drag him away by the ear if he didn’t do as she said, and that was not something he wanted anyone at Garreg Mach to witness. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, Teach.”

“See you soon, then,” Byleth said. She gave him a warning look just as he turned to follow Judith out of the garden. Claude nodded once he was sure Judith’s back was turned, then turned to follow her. The pair kept silent for the most part as they walked to the stables. The only exception was when Judith caught the worried look Petra gave Claude as he passed by her with little more than a wave.

“Girlfriend?” Judith asked.

“Something like that,” Claude replied. He honestly didn’t know what he and Petra were. He liked her, and he liked kissing her. Was that all it took for someone to become his girlfriend? Claude wished he knew. For all his teasing and flirting, he hardly had any experience with actual romance. But that conversation would have to wait until his return.

Judith and Claude mounted their horses and rode out of the monastery walls, Judith’s personal guards riding both in front and behind them. “So,” Claude sighed when the monastery was far behind them. “Are you going to tell me the _other_ reason that I’m being pulled out of school, or do I have to guess myself?”

Judith glared at him, clenching the reins in her hands. “Did you honestly think that the archbishop wouldn’t send a report to your grandfather about a man trying to kill you a couple of weeks ago?” she seethed.

Claude grimaced. “It was fine. I didn’t die, did I?”

“I should tie you to your horse and drag you behind it for half a day,” Judith growled. “Your mother used to say that was the only way you would learn a lesson.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is! I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry after everything was already taken care of. Shouldn’t you be happy about that?”

Judith groaned. “For as clever as you are, boy, there are some lessons you surely haven’t learned yet.” Her expression turned more sympathetic. “Your mother nearly had a heart attack when I told her. Especially when she discovered who the attacker was!”

“I never realized Mother was capable of being a concerned parent.”

“That’s not fair, Claude.”

“You have to say that. You’re her best friend.”

“She wants you home.”

“I am not going home!” Claude shouted.

Judith’s tone grew more exasperated. “Have you even been to visit your parents once since you came to Fódlan?”

“No,” Claude said sternly.

“It’s been a year.”

“A year isn’t long enough.”

“If you would just go visit them, go see the grave—“

“Don’t,” Claude begged. “Please. Don’t say it. Don’t use that against me.” He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “I will go talk with my grandfather, and I will attend the roundtable meeting in Derdriu. The second that is over, I’m returning to Garreg Mach. And if I see either of my parents during the trip, I’m stealing a wyvern and flying back to the academy myself. Got it?”

Judith frowned, but she did not argue with him. “Fine,” she said.

The silence hung in the air between them. Once Claude was a little more calm, he took a deep breath, and asked, “How is Mom?”

“She’s fine, all things considered,” Judith replied. There was strain in her voice. If Claude did not know better, he would say she sounded hurt. “Nothing has changed. She wishes you would write.”

Claude groaned. “I’ll write her a letter when I reach my grandfather’s home. You can forward it to her when you next talk to her.” He wasn’t sure whether he meant that or not, but it was at least enough to put an end to the conversation for the time being.

Judith smiled. “Thank you, Claude.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Claude groaned, looking away from her. Judith chuckled.

“You have so much of Eliana in you,” she said. “She didn’t like to open up to anyone, either. Not even me, and I’ve known her since she was crawling on the floor.”

“Emotional walls tend to run in the family on both sides,” Claude replied bitterly. He still didn’t look at Judith.

“Hmm,” was the only reply she gave him. Several minutes later, she guided her horse closer to his, and leaned in to whisper, “Wanna see how fast we can leave these asshole knights in our dust?”

Claude smirked, unable to resist the opportunity. “I thought you would never ask.”

It was sundown the next day when Claude and Judith reached Duke Riegan’s home in Derdriu, and the knights were likely half a day’s ride behind them. Together, they led their horses to the stables to be unsaddled, then Judith walked with him into the home. “I can go with you to talk with him, if you want,” Judith offered. “I know how the old man can be.”

“That’s okay,” Claude replied. “I can handle myself. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.”

Judith forced a smile before heading towards the guest quarters. She often stayed at the Riegan estate when visiting Derdriu, as her home was too far away to travel back to easily. And as far as Claude could tell, his grandfather didn’t ever mind. He had a soft spot for her, like she were his own daughter._ If only he would extend the courtesy to his own blood,_ Claude thought bitterly. He marched toward his rooms, smiling stiffly at the servants who bowed to him with a “Welcome back, Master Claude.” “How were your travels, Master Claude?” “Will you be dining in tonight, Master Claude?” “Are you enjoying the academy, Master Claude?”

It drove him nuts.

“Master Claude,” the housemistress called, rushing towards him with her skirts in her hands. “I did not expect you until the morning! Otherwise I would have greeted you at the door.”

“It’s alright, Greta,” Claude assured her. “I thought I told you before that I don’t like all of that pomp and circumstance, anyway.”

“You may feel that way,” Greta began with a warning tone, “but your grandfather—“

“I know,” Claude sighed. “He and I don’t see eye to eye.”

Greta took Claude’s face in her hands, tilting his head so she could see the scar along his jaw. “To think this was done to you by Jacobe Donovan,” she whispered. “He was always a nice boy. Had a bit of an obsessive manner to him, but it often kept him out of trouble, so I didn’t mind it. It’s a shame to know he turned into a killer.”

“Well, they say love makes you do crazy things,” Claude said sarcastically. Greta glared up at him.

“Enough of that snark out of you,” she said. “Duke Riegan will want to see you, though I recommend bathing and getting out of that school uniform first. Go on to your rooms, and I’ll have some of the maids come up with hot water for you.”

“Thanks, Greta,” Claude said. He smiled wearily at her before walking past, heading for his room. He opened the door and was surprised to see that the space had been cleaned while he was gone. All books were stacked neatly on shelves, clear of any dust. The maps he had been studying before leaving for school were bound together in clean rolls. Even his bed was made, corners sharp and linens smelling as if they had just been washed that morning.

Nothing about it made Claude feel at home.

He tore off his jacket and shirt and threw them on the floor. _There_. He felt more comfortable already. With his minor act of defiance out of the way, he sat on the bed and began unlacing his shoes. He heard a knock at the door, and absently called “Come in,” to whoever it was.

Two young women entered, and their faces immediately went red at the sight of him. “Oh! P-pardon us, Master Claude,” the taller of the two girls stammered. “We were just bringing up your bath water.”

Reflexively, Claude gave the girls his most dazzling smile, still pulling the shoe off of his right foot. “Thank you, the bath is just through there. I won’t get in your way.”

The shorter of the two girls looked at Claude like getting in her way was _exactly_ what she wanted him to do. Her companion not-so-subtly tugged on her hair and jerked her chin toward where Claude had indicated. They came in and out a handful of times, bringing a fresh bucket of water to pour into the tub each time they entered. Claude finished removing his shoes and socks, but he waited until he was certain that the girls would not come in again before locking the door and undressing completely. He sank gratefully into the warm water, letting the grime of travel wash off him. It felt good to sit in the tub, untying his braid and letting the water from his hair run down his face. He decided he would take his time, before seeing his grandfather. If he was not expected to come in until the next day anyway, what was the harm? The water was nice. And so was the silence.

He did not stand again until the water was long cold. Then, he patted his skin dry and wrapped the towel around his waist, walking to his wardrobe. He put on the first shirt and pants he saw, not really caring how formal or casual he looked. He was going to get chewed out regardless. When he was dressed, Claude moved to the mirror to comb out his wet hair, re-braiding the longer portion and fastening it with a golden clasp. He sighed. There was no point delaying the inevitable any longer. After a moment of internal debate, he pulled his cloak off the floor, unfastening his uncle’s pendant so he could attach it to his shirt, then threw the fabric down again and left to see his grandfather.

Reaching Duke Riegan’s quarters required walking clear across the building, as his bedroom was separate from every other room in the house. Why, Claude could not fathom, but the only reasonable conclusion he could ever reach was arrogance. When he reached the door, he could hear his grandfather coughing violently on the other side. He steeled himself, then he knocked.

The coughing quieted, and Claude heard the sound of padded footsteps approaching. His grandfather’s physician opened the door. “Master Claude,” he whispered. “The duke is unwell.”

“I know, that’s why I travelled all the way here, isn’t it?” Claude responded flatly. The shrimpy middle-aged man always gave Claude a bad feeling, and Claude would not be surprised if he ever discovered that he was behind the duke’s growing ailments. Claude pushed past him into the room. “You can go for now. I’m an expert in concoctions, so I’ll see to it he gets what he needs for the night.” With a scowl, the physician left the room.

“I keep telling everyone I’m fine,” his grandfather groaned.

“Yes, you look to be the picture of health,” Claude replied sarcastically. He sat in the chair beside the bed.

“You don’t even have the decency to ask how an old man is doing?”

“There’s no point asking a question with an obvious answer. I keep telling you that physician of yours—“

“Ah, quit your bitching. I know you seem to think everyone is dealing in poisons or magic or whatever voodoo shit your whore of a mother allowed you to be raised on.” Claude bit the side of his cheek and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to punch the old man in the face. Claude may not have been on speaking terms with his mother at the moment, but he did not like the way her father spoke about her. “But that’s simply not how things are done in the Alliance.” Duke Riegan fell into another fit of coughing. When he was finished, he glared up at Claude. “It looks like I’m not the Riegan who people want dead at the moment, anyway.”

Claude resisted the urge to cover his scar with his hand. His grandfather must have noticed his discomfort, as he gave a quick, breathy laugh.

“Don’t worry about your face, boy,” the older man said. “Women love a man with a scar. In my experience, it makes them more loose in bed.”

“That’s not exactly something I want for myself,” Claude asserted. His grandfather frowned at him.

“That’s right,” he said flatly. “You would rather go out and play soldier than fulfill our duties as an heir to this family’s title.”

“Old man, I have more than enough time to produce a million crest-bearing gremlins to inherit the Duke Riegan title when I’m gone. There’s no rush.”

“That’s what your uncle used to say,” Duke Riegan growled. “He had a pretty face like yours, too. Though dare I say, he lacked your backbone. He flirted and fucked but never settled on a wife. His inability to produce an heir or even a bastard forced me in my old age to travel past Fódlan’s Locket to beg for my only grandson to succeed me.”

“You say that like you actually made the journey yourself rather than making him do it before he died,” Claude seethed. “Maybe if you had actually visited your own fucking daughter once in a while—“

Duke Riegan leapt up suddenly, grasping Claude’s shirt in surprisingly strong hands. “You watch your tongue around me, boy. Maybe the members of the church and the professors at the office academy will let you get away with using that sort of language against your superiors, but you will not disrespect me in this way! Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Claude replied, keeping his eyes level. His grandfather laughed mirthlessly as he let Claude’s shirt go and rested his head back down.

“When you go to the roundtable meeting tomorrow, you are to announce to the other members that you are permanently taking over in my stead. Normally, an heir is not seen as successor until the relative currently holding the title has passed on, but after that little stunt happened at the school—“

“I’m not leaving the officer’s academy,” Claude told him. “I will go to as many meetings as you want me to, attend parties, talk pretty—hell, I’ll even start looking for a bride if you want—but not until I graduate. You and I had a deal, remember? You give me one year to do as I please, and I’ll be the heir that you always wanted afterward.” His grandfather scoffed. “But. . . If you go back on your word, I can always go back home. I have a kingdom to rule regardless, so you’re the one dealt a bad hand here if you try to break your word, gramps.”

His grandfather was fuming, his fists clenching the ends of his blankets so hard they were shaking. Claude smirked. The old man had no leverage against him. Claude was too close to the Sword of the Creator to drop out of school now. And regardless, Claude refused to be one more coward of Fódlan. It would take more than a single killer to scare him away from Garreg Mach for good. Duke Riegan looked down at the pendant Claude was wearing on his chest, and his expression softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” he sighed. He laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Claude never thought it would be true, but he missed Garreg Mach. The peaceful mornings, teasing classmates, sparring or napping whenever he pleased.

And not a damn relative in sight.

Even bed-ridden, Duke Riegan had found a way to steal all of Claude’s down time. And when Claude was not with his grandfather, he was joining Judith and the other house leaders at the Alliance roundtable meeting.

Boy, what a pain in the ass that was.

Nobody in that group wanted to cooperate with one another. Even a simple matter of distributing troops or feeding civilians would lead to an eruption of arguments. And of course, the man who gave Claude’s suggestions the most resistance was Lorenz’s father. The apple certainly did not fall far from the tree.

“Knock, knock,” Byleth said, entering his room as he removed his cloak. “I’m surprised you’re back so soon. Is your grandfather doing better?”

“He’s recovering,” Claude said carefully, not wanting to slip about how little he cared at the moment about the man’s health. “He was surprisingly alert when I left him. I’d say he’ll stick around for a good five years or so longer.” _Assuming nobody poisons him to death first_. “As for my return, I did consider dropping out of school, but I couldn’t keep away from you if I tried, Teach,” Claude said with a wink. “Who else would keep me out of trouble?”

“Based on what I saw, Judith can handle you fairly well,” Byleth replied with a smirk.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Claude admitted. “But her methods are not as congenial as yours.”

Byleth hummed. She watched Claude carefully remove his uncle’s pendant from the silk cloth and fasten it to his shirt. “That belonged to your uncle, right?” Byleth asked.

“That’s right,” Claude said. “It was a gift from my grandfather when he turned eighteen, I think. Apparently he never went anywhere without it. I’m trying to honor his memory by doing the same thing.”

“Were you close with your uncle?”

“Not really, no,” Claude admitted. “He disowned my mom after she ran away to marry my dad. I didn’t even know he existed until about two years ago, when he came to visit. That was the same day that I learned my mother used to be a noble in the Leicester Alliance.” He gave Byleth a mischievous grin. “The trip was very hush-hush, given that my people are not very fond of people from this side of Fódlan’s Locket, but he was funny and sharp, and I could tell that my mother was really happy to see him again.” Claude fingered the pendant on his shirt absently. “In another life, I think I would have ended up just like him. At least in some ways. The man definitely had appetites for things that I’d rather not touch. It wasn’t even until he discovered that he was getting sick that he—“ Claude paused, cursing himself silently.

“What’s wrong?” Byleth asked.

“Pretend you didn’t hear what I just told you,” Claude said carefully.

“I don’t even know what you said that I’m pretending not to hear,” Byleth said. Then, she caught it. “Oh. Your uncle. . .?”

“The story is that he died in an accident,” Claude whispered quickly. “But. . . That’s not exactly true.” There was no easy-to-translate name for it in Claude’s homeland, but he knew Byleth would recognize the disease if he described it to her. Men who lived a, well, “eccentric” lifestyle filled with brothel visits and recreational drug use tended to contract it regularly, whether in Fódlan or otherwise. Yes, Claude’s uncle was killed in a horrible accident while traveling to visit Count Gloucester, but he would not have lived much longer anyway. Claude shook his head. He may not be able to control his words around Byleth, but he could at least decide not to say anything else about it altogether.

“It’s really none of my business, so I won’t press further on. . . The matter of his passing.” She shifted in place.

“I just wish I had more time with him,” Claude said. “A lot of questions went unasked.”

“That’s just how life goes,” Byleth replied with a shrug. “All we can ever do is look forward and hope that we have everything we need to keep going. If you spend all of your time looking backwards, you risk losing out in the present. Even I’m still trying to learn that lesson.”

Claude smiled sadly. He could think of a hundred things that kept him looking backwards, but none of which were topics he wanted to discuss in that moment. He was tired after being on a horse all day. Who could blame a guy? “You’re right, Teach,” Claude sighed. He tried to smile. “Where are my manners? You probably came in here because you wanted something, right? I shouldn’t keep you.”

Byleth shook her head. “I just came by to welcome you back. It’s been rather dull without you around.”

“Awwww. I’ve missed you too, Teach.”

Byleth’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly, so much so that Claude assumed it was a hallucination, as her expression did not change at all. “I’ll be on my way, then,” Byleth said. “I told Lysithea I would let her borrow one of my books on the analytical study of magic. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“I didn’t realize you studied magic?” Claude asked with a laugh. Byleth winked at him.

“I’m a woman of mystery. Isn’t that around the lines of what you say? I’ll see you in the morning. I’m guessing you did not do any training when visiting your grandfather, so we are doing axes and bows tomorrow to catch you up.”

“What if I bribed you and we just pretended I practiced tomorrow?” Claude asked. Byleth raised an eyebrow. Claude scrambled through his few belongings until he found the palm-sized bag tied with a bow. He had intended on saving it for later, but he really didn’t want any more practice with axes. Byleth’s eyes lit up.

“Is that. . .”

“Duke Riegan, as it turns out, is a fan of coffee.” Claude grinned at Byleth’s expression as he handed her the package. “He won’t notice that this is missing, I promise.”

Byleth eagerly took the gift, pressing it to her nose and inhaling the scent of the roasted beans. “I haven’t had coffee in so long!” She looked up at Claude with an amused expression. “Your gift is appreciated, but mercenaries don’t take bribes. You still need to practice tomorrow.” Claude suppressed a groan, which only seemed to amuse Byleth more. She smiled slightly, and with coffee in hand, she waved and left the room.

Claude closed the door behind her and plopped on his bed. He didn’t want to unpack, so he tried to take a nap instead. But his brain was too awake, still processing the week away from the monastery. After much effort, he gave up and sat up again. The book from Byleth was still on his desk, right where he had left it the day that Judith picked him up to take him back to Derdriu. “Well, better late than never,” Claude said to himself. He picked the book up and started reading.

The rest of the month passed by quickly. Claude spent his mornings in classes and training lessons, and his afternoons were consumed by the book Byleth had gifted him. Claude filled page after page with notes about the goddess that never seemed to appear in textbooks. Many of which gave reference to time, and its association with the mystical entity. Petra often visited him at night. Sometimes they studied, mostly they kissed. They would lay awake in bed with Petra teaching Claude how to say different phrases in her native tongue. Claude enjoyed the distraction.

The Golden Deer’s mission that month was to subdue Sylvain’s disowned older brother, Miklan, for stealing House Gautier’s relic. When it came time for them to leave, Claude thought he was prepared for anything. He was wrong. Nothing in the world could ready him for the horror of watching a man turn into a literal monster before his eyes, all for the “sin” of wielding a relic without bearing a crest. In the end, Sylvain was the one to land the finishing blow. He claimed it was his final duty as a brother.

When they returned, Rhea pressured everyone who aided in the mission to swear a vow of silence about what had transpired. She asked Byleth to give her the Gautier relic, but Byleth informed her that she had already gifted the spear to Sylvain. Rhea was dismayed. Claude initially questioned the wisdom of the choice, as well. But the hard truth of it was, Sylvain was a different man after that day.

He never antagonized Claude again.

“Have you seen Flayn around, Tomas?” Claude heard Seteth ask Tomas in hushed, urgent tones.

“Hmm?” The librarian asked. “No, I haven’t seen her around. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing,” Seteth whispered. “I’m sure she just went to bed after returning from the market and forgot to tell me. . .” Seteth turned on his heel and left the library again.

“That was odd,” Claude said to Tomas in a questioning tone as the older man walked by. Tomas chuckled.

“You and I both know that Seteth is an, how should I put this delicately? Overbearing older brother.”

Claude chuckled under his breath.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You’re probably right,” Claude said. He looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “Do you have what I asked for?”

Tomas raised an eyebrow, slipping a thin paper-bound book to Claude from under his robe. “I’m surprised you even knew of it,” he murmured. “As far as I’m aware, I have the only remaining copy of it in existence. So please take good care of it.”

His words had a double meaning to them. After their last mission, Claude had gotten into a discussion with Tomas about the incident with Miklan and the relic. Tomas had divulged to Claude that similar incidences had occurred before, and that there used to be countless records of those tragedies. Such was not the case any longer. Claude was too cautious to ask outright, but based on Tomas’s words, it seemed as though the church was the one removing such texts. However, after countless meetings with Claude in the library, the old man must have trusted Claude to a degree, as he offered to let Claude borrow books from his secret collection, that contained these near-erased secrets.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, my friend,” Claude assured him. He slipped the book into one of his deep, hidden pockets. It had only been a miracle that he knew what to ask for from Tomas. The book that Byleth had given to Claude for his birthday held many secrets, if one knew how to read between the lines: something Claude happened to be an expert in doing. Several of the poems in the book made mention of the “words of the dragon.” Any other guy would have assumed that the poet who wrote the book got high and hallucinated a conversation with a wyvern. But in his homeland, Claude had been raised studying ancient texts that described long-gone races of people who could change between human and animal forms: wolves, tigers, foxes, even giant rabbits. Claude had never seen anything stating that one of those races could transform into dragons, but Claude had a gut feeling that the “dragons” in the poems could be nothing else. Had Tomas not already been smuggling forbidden texts to Claude, he would not have believed that the librarian could know what he was talking about when he asked for a book written by dragons, let alone had a copy of it. Claude was eager to read its contents. “I’ll return this as soon as I finish reading it.” Claude stood up, but Tomas took his arm.

“You have been up most nights this week studying in the library,” Tomas said carefully, a warning look in his eye. “I may not be the only one who has noticed. You may want to take a break from your late night studies for a while, in case the knights—or Seteth—start to ask what it is you have been reading.”

“Thank for the warning,” Claude whispered.

Tomas game him a sly grin. “What is a librarian if not a guide in the search for knowledge? Take care, Claude. I’m sure I will see you tomorrow.”

Claude smiled and pat Tomas assuringly on the shoulder before he left.

The halls were quiet, indicating that it was later in the night than Claude realized. That was happening far more often than usual lately. Claude would not doubt it if he was the most frequent visitor of the library at that point. There were so many secrets to unfold about the church, and such few resources. It was only by the fortune of Byleth’s birthday gift and Tomas’s friendship that Claude was able to find anything at all.

A figure nearly ran into him as he reached the academy classrooms, and he halted. “Claude?” Edelgard asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m returning from the library,” Claude replied with a yawn. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I just finished speaking with Professor Byleth. She’s still in the Golden Deer homeroom preparing for a lecture.” Edelgard smiled in a way that made Claude nervous, like prey being watched by a predator. “It’s so hard to get a moment with her without one or two of her fawns around, so I do my best to visit her in the evenings if I have a question for her.”

“I see,” Claude replied cautiously. “And what is it that the two of you talk about?”

Edelgard tried to shrug like it was casual, but Claude could tell she was intentionally trying to draw him in. “Battle strategies, training techniques, nothing too intimate,” Edelgard sighed. She was trying to hide a smile as Claude leaned in closer, pretending to take the bait. “Though tonight was a little different. I was asking her about the Sword of the Creator.” She tilted her head. “Such a strange relic, oddly distinct from others that I’ve seen. It makes you wonder what secrets lie in her past, that she can wield it.”

_There it is_, Claude realized. “I wouldn’t know,” Claude replied just as casually, though that was far from the truth. Claude had done a significant amount of research on the Sword of the Creator before enrolling in the officer’s academy, and even more ever since it was gifted to his professor. He also began looking into Byleth’s peculiar crest, though that yielded fewer results, as the amount of information on it short of “The Crest of Flames exists and has not been seen in a millennia,” was nil.

“Really? You never even bothered to ask the professor if she had any insight for you?” Edelgard asked.

“I have a strict policy of exchanging secrets for secrets, as you may recall. And I don’t think I have any secrets to share that would match Teach’s.”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt that,” Edelgard said sweetly. Too sweetly. “You’re easily the student in Garreg Mach with the most secrets.”

Claude smirked at her. “You overestimate me. My secrets don’t amount to much,” he said. He did not even need to pretend to be nonchalant as he said it, the line was so practiced by that point.

“Oh? Would you change your tune if I said I would accept your offer?”

“What offer?” Claude asked.

“A secret for a secret,” Edelgard reminded him. Her smile was no longer quite so sweet. Claude felt like a mouse in an eagle’s talons. “I have a secret of mine that I’m dying to share, if you would offer me the same.”

Claude cursed himself internally. This was the second time that Edelgard had made him think he was being led into one direction only to be surprised when she took a ninety-degree turn. Or was it the third? _That could be another phantom memory_, Claude realized, as he did not think he would willingly let someone as guarded as Edelgard fool him so often.

He flashed her a dazzling smile and leaned against the nearby wall, hands laced behind his head. “Could you even afford to offer me one of your secrets?” He asked languidly. “Because I fear that you have some that are far darker than mine.”

“We won’t know until we find out then, will we?” Edelgard countered. “Because I certainly have a number of questions for a guy like you.”

“Such as what?” There was a bite in Claude’s words. He was growing annoyed with her game.

Edelgard’s gaze sharpened. She took a step forward so her face was mere inches from his. “Let’s start with an easy one,” she said, a look on her face like she already knew the answer to her unasked question. “Why did you leave your family behind and move to Fódlan?” she whispered.

“What’s going on here?” Byleth’s voice called. Edelgard pulled herself away from Claude’s body.

“Professor,” she greeted in that light tone of voice again. “Claude and I were just discussing his life before the monastery.”

Byleth shot Claude that look she had when she knew someone was lying to her, but otherwise said nothing more on the subject. “It’s nearing curfew. You should find your way back to your dorms.”

“Of course, Professor,” Edelgard said sweetly. She glanced back at Claude. “Shall we continue our discussion in the morning?” She did not give him time to reply before she sauntered away.

Claude watched her leave with a clenched jaw, only remembering Byleth was standing beside him when she gave a low whistle. “Now, I won’t pretend to be an expert on the manners of love,” she began slowly, “but I would say that isn’t the sort of position you would want your new girlfriend to find you in. Especially with one of her friends.”

Claude smiled weakly at her. “Don’t you worry, Teach,” Claude said. “I can handle myself around Edelgard. I don’t think seduction is her poison of choice so much as intimidation, anyway.”

“If you say so,” Byleth hummed. She eyed him up and down. “What was she whispering so close to you, then?”

“She asked me why I moved to Fódlan.”

“Ah. I won’t blame her for that. It’s something I’ve started wondering myself over the last several months.” Byleth said, a twinkle in her eye. “But if I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that you are quite private on that subject. I won’t ask you to share anything you don’t want to share with your old, bored professor.”

Claude smiled. An image appeared in his mind, of a young woman with dark skin and flowers in her hair singing to a white wyvern while she brushed the dirt off its back. His heart ached. He looked at Byleth, and he felt the urge to tell her everything, much like when he had blurted out the secret about his uncle after returning from Derdriu. Claude smiled and shook his head as the voice in his head pulled him back down again. _No_, he decided. He was not ready to tell her everything yet. A half-truth, however, seemed less harmful. After all, if he was going to need the help of her relic one day, he may as well plant the thought in her head ahead of time. “I came here to make my dreams come true,” Claude whispered. “A selfless dream, but one that requires the power of a crest to become a reality.”

Byleth crossed her arms. “I remember you saying before that you didn’t know you had a crest until shortly before you arrived in the Leicester Alliance, right?”

“Right,” Claude said. “It was my uncle who ran the test, and gave me the results. He didn’t tell my mom that was his main intention when he visited, to find an heir who bore a crest to replace him when he died. But once he realized I had a crest, he told me everything I could possibly need to know about it: how it allowed me to claim the title of Duke Riegan, to wield the Heroes’ Relics. . .” Claude smiled to himself. “I couldn’t get enough of the stories about the relics, the power they demonstrated. My uncle told me about a time that he witnessed Catherine in battle—that’s a big reason why I’m a fan of hers—and how her sword was a wonder to behold. How I, too, could wield that sort of power one day.”

Byleth giggled, something Claude did not realize she was capable of doing until that moment. It almost made her seem more her age. “It sounds like this dream of yours is a big one. Big enough to move mountains.”

Claude grinned. “Move mountains, cut them down, something like that.”

“Is your uncle also the reason why you enrolled at the academy? Was that a requirement to inherit the dukedom?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Claude laughed. “I had to fight my grandfather tooth and nail to come here.”

“But why?” Byleth asked. Her eyes were wide with curiosity as she leaned forward. When Claude did not immediately answer, she lowered her gaze and took a step back again. “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t pry.”

“I don’t mind,” Claude said with a slight smile. “I’m just a little shocked that you care this much.” He leaned back and sighed. “Let’s just say I was hoping for some divine intervention. That someone, or something, would come my way and lend me a hand on my journey. I had a feeling I would find that something here.”

“Are you talking about the Sword of the Creator?” Just like that, Byleth was stoic again.She stepped further away from him, her face expressionless. Claude wondered if it was a defense mechanism at this point. He recalled Judith calling him a “tactless nuisance,” and figured those words were rather accurate at the moment.

“Yes,” Claude admitted. He was a lot of things, but not a liar. At least not to his friends. “Though I don’t think obtaining it is a possibility for me anymore,” he added with a wink.

Byleth looked away from him, her mouth set in a firm line. “What could it do for you even if you could wield it?” she wondered.

Claude sighed. “It’s getting late, Teach. I should be going to bed.”

“Right. . .” Byleth murmured. Claude felt guilty for deflecting her question, but it was not one he was ready to answer. Not quite yet. He just needed the thought planted in her head.

“Maybe we can continue this conversation at a later date? After I’ve graduated and you can no longer scold me for the unholy thoughts that enter my dark, twisted mind?”

Byleth allowed herself the slightest of smiles as she looked back up at him. “I doubt that day will ever come,” she teased half-heartedly. “But if it does, I will be ready to hear of your wondrous, over the moon dream.” She started to walk back towards her room. “Goodnight, Claude,” she called over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Teach,” Claude whispered back to her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flayn goes missing, a new student rocks Claude and Petra’s relationship, and Claude asks Byleth a question about her life before the monastery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING (and a minor spoiler): this chapter contains nudity and heavily-implied sexual content. It’s pretty easy to tell when it’s coming, and it ends at the scene change (when there’s an extra line between chapters). Skip it if you like.

“How much longer do I have to hold this pose for?” Claude asked through gritted teeth. Ignatz hardly looked up from his sketch.

“Not much longer,” he frantically assured him. “I just need the right line for the muscle on your shoulder, and. . . Okay!”

Claude lowered the bow with a grunt. He set the weapon down carefully on the ground and rubbed his shoulder. “What did you need this for again?”

“I was talking with Flayn a couple of days ago about the saints,” Ignatz said, a wide smile spread across his face as he drew. “I figured she might like a drawing of them in action, since the only poses they are ever depicted in are so stiff. Hardly artistic at all.”

“I see,” Claude said, not even bothering to hide the smirk on his face. Though of course, Ignatz wasn’t even looking up at him to enjoy it. “And I suppose you are using me as a reference for the lovely Cethleann because of my beauty?”

Ignatz frowned up a him. “I know you say that in jest, but it’s highly disrespectful.” He looked back down at his drawing. “I’m using you for Saint Indech, since he was revered for his skill with a bow.” Claude put his shirt back on and leaned over Ignatz’s shoulder. 

“And the saints all have to be naked because. . .?”

Ignatz’s face turned beet red. “They’re going to be clothed,” he emphasized. “I was just trying to get the forms right before adding their robes and—“

“Hey, if you want to live life on the edge by introducing Seteth’s little sister to erotica, I will support you all the way,” Claude teased, causing Ignatz’s face to turn an even darker shade of red. “In all seriousness, this is really good. The poses are all really dynamic, and they really seem to tell a story about who the saints were as people.”

“Thank you,” Ignatz said. The flush wasn’t leaving his face. “I just hope that Flayn likes it.”

“I’m sure she will, buddy,” Claude said slyly. He looked up at the sky and squinted. The sun was much higher than he realized. “And speaking of pleasing women, I have to go find my girlfriend before class starts.”

Ignatz gave Claude a knowing smile and nodded. “Best to not keep her waiting.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Claude said with a laugh, sprinting out out the door. He hurried towards the spot where he told Petra to meet him. She was already standing there, absently playing with her braid until she spotted him. “How did it go?” Claude asked, pecking her on the cheek.

“It was fine,” Petra said absently, lacing her fingers through his.

“Fine?” Claude prodded. Petra smiled up at him.

“Having tea with Professor Byleth was _good_. I can see why you are liking her so much,” she said. “I was having some fear that she would be boring, but I am thinking now that she is quite funny and smart. Her mind is being faster than her sword. And her sword is _very_ fast.”

Claude raised an eyebrow at her. “Then why do I get the feeling there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”

Petra furrowed her brow. “There were no exposed butts over tea. Why would there be—oh. Stop laughing at me! I was having a misunderstanding!” Petra giggled. She playfully punched Claude in the arm.

“Ow! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Claude laughed. When he finally stopped laughing, Petra sighed.

“Tea was fine, _but_,” she paused and raised her eyebrow. “It felt very much like in Brigid, when an unmarried woman has to be presenting an offering to the mother of the man she wishes to marry and is asking for the mother’s permission to propose to him.”

“You’re saying that Teach is like my mom?” Claude asked.

“I think meeting your mother would have been easier,” Petra answered.

“Then you have no idea what my mother is like,” Claude said with a laugh.

“I am being serious, Claude.” Petra squeezed Claude’s hand. “The professor is having much protection over you, more than is being required of her as your ‘Teach,’ as you call her.” Claude stopped smiling, reading the concern over Petra’s face. “I was feeling like there was something I am missing when we talked about you. . . Is there something I am missing? With you and her?”

Claude pulled Petra closer to him and hugged her. “No,” he said. “It likely has to do with the assassination attempts earlier this year. After all, she had a hand in saving my life both times. It’s bound to make her protective of me.”

“I am thinking you are right. . .” Petra mumbled against his shoulder. Claude loosened his hold on her so he could cup her chin and tilt her face upward. He kissed her, once, twice, then hugged her again.

“Do you have any more classes today?” he asked her.

“I don’t think so,” Petra answered. “Manuela never showed up for our morning session. I am thinking she must be. . . What’s the word. . . Overhanging?”

“Hungover?” Claude asked.

“Yes! I am thinking she is hungover again.”

“Again? Is this a common occurrence?” Claude asked with a laugh. Petra smiled and rolled her eyes.

“If you have to be asking,” she said with a teasing tone, “then you clearly are not knowing Professor Manuela very well.”

“Well, since you did me a favor by having tea with my professor, maybe I’ll snag a bottle of wine from the cellar and have a glass or two with yours.”

“Claude!” Petra protested with a laugh. She held Claude’s face with both hands and pulled him down for another kiss. “You are trouble.”

“Come now, I thought that was why you like me.”

“Oh, it is very much why I like you.”

Claude grinned down at Petra. He gave her one more kiss before he pulled away. “Okay, I have to go. I will be out of class in an hour or so, if you’re free? I know your birthday isn’t until tomorrow, but I was thinking we could do something tonight, so I can have you all to myself? I’m sure Dorothea and Edelgard will want to celebrate with you tomorrow.” He struggled to say Edelgard’s name without frowning, but Petra seemed too happy to notice.

“I am thinking I can make time for you,” she replied playfully. Claude smiled, then rushed towards the Golden Deer classroom. Most of the other students were already present, including Ignatz, who must have left shortly after Claude. Claude took a seat next to Hilda.

“How did Petra’s late morning tea time with the professor go?” Hilda whispered.

“It seems like it went well,” Claude replied. Hilda raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think Petra will change classes now?”

Claude frowned. He had actually forgotten to ask her about that. It wasn’t just that she was his girlfriend. Claude genuinely thought Petra could benefit from learning under an experienced mercenary rather than a singer-turned-medic. “I think she’s more likely to transfer now than she was yesterday.”

Hilda snickered at him. “You’re never going to get her to transfer. Especially with how deep Edelgard’s claws are driven into her skin. . . Or should I say talons?”

“I hardly think it matters,” Claude said, a bitter taste in his mouth. Hilda frowned.

“You still have no idea what Edelgard was trying to get out of you the other night?” Claude shook his head. “Well, I still think it might have to do with you dating Petra. Then again, after making a whole show of celebrating your birthday ‘in honor of inter-class unity’, you would think she would be happier about you shoving your tongue down her friend’s throat.” Claude yanked at Hilda’s chair, smirking when it made her lose balance. “Asshole,” she protested.

“Be nice,” Claude warned with a laugh.

“But seriously: not a damn word from her?”

Claude shook his head. “Not a damn word.”

“Hello, Claude. Hello, Hilda,” Marianne said sweetly as she passed by her two classmates.

“Hey there, Marianne,” Claude replied as Hilda greeted the blue-haired girl in a similar manner. The two of them watched her smile, taking a seat next to Raphael and striking up a conversation with him.

“Is it just me,” Hilda whispered, “or has she been in a significantly better mood lately? I swear, the girl has smiled more this week than I’ve seen her smile the last few months!”

“I’ve noticed it, too,” Claude agreed, though the source of Marianne’s improved temperament was no mystery to him. The better grooming habits, standing up straighter, talking louder, Claude had deduced the source of all of it weeks before anyone else had started to notice the changes in Marianne’s mood. But Claude dealt in discovering secrets, not divulging them. If Marianne was not ready to tell anyone else what had changed recently, then he was more than happy to play the fool.

Before Hilda could reply, Byleth burst through the door, looking disheveled and under strain. “Good afternoon, class,” she began quickly. “I apologize for being late.” She walked around her desk to face them, and rested her hands heavily on its wooden surface. “I just finished meeting with Lady Rhea and Seteth. I was supposed to get our mission for the upcoming month, but the assignment has been postponed.”

Everyone perked up at her words, even Sylvain, who had barely even been present—let alone attentive—in class since the death of his brother. “Why, what happened?” Leonie asked.

Byleth sighed heavily. “I won’t beat around the bush,” she began. “Seteth’s sister Flayn has been missing for the last two days.” Claude glanced over at Ignatz, who went white as a ghost at the professor’s words. “She was supposed to go to the market in town, so Seteth didn’t realize it until the next morning when she wasn’t in her room. However, after cross-referencing stories with the knights on guard, it was determined that she never left the monastery grounds to begin with.”

“At least not through the front gate,” Sylvain muttered, causing everyone to look back at him. “People elope, that’s all I’m saying.”

“This isn’t really the time for that,” Lysithea scolded him. “She can’t be older than I am, after all.”

“Regardless of motive, we should look at all possibilities,” Byleth said. “As if Flayn being missing isn’t bad enough, there have also been rumors growing increasingly rampant about the knight that we saw during the Rite of Rebirth kidnapping people from nearby towns in the middle of the night.”

“You mean the Death Knight?” Leonie asked. “That’s what I’ve heard people calling him.”

“Yes,” Byleth replied curtly.

Ignatz, who was still ghostly pale, cleared his throat. “I can’t even imagine what a man that terrifying would want with Flayn. . .”

“Me neither,” Byleth admitted, a strained look on her face. “Which is exactly why I don’t want her to be missing any longer than necessary.”

“Then, let’s go look for her,” Claude said.

“In the middle of class?” Hilda scoffed.

“No, that’s a great idea, actually,” Byleth said. “Your assignment for the day is to look for clues of Flayn’s whereabouts, and who may have taken her. We’ll meet back here every hour until sundown, and if we haven’t found anything out by then, we’ll start the process over again in the morning. Investigate in pairs, I don’t need anyone else going missing.”

The students leapt out of their seats and immediately formed into groups of two: Leonie and Raphael, Hilda and Lorenz, Lysithea and Sylvain, and Marianne and Ignatz. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Teach,” Claude said.

“Where do you want to look first?”

“Let’s go to the church. We already know there’s a fair amount of crypts and secret rooms in that area.”

“Good idea,” Byleth muttered. She walked around her desk and marched out the door, leaving Claude running after her. The pair searched the church high and low. With no signs of struggle or secret entryways into crypts apparent, they decided to move on. Byleth suggested that they search near the knight’s quarters next. The time was nearing the hour mark. They cut through the reception hall on their way there, where Claude noticed Petra talking with Dorothea.

“One second, Teach,” Claude whispered.

“Claude, this isn’t the time to—“

“I know, I promise it’s important.”

Byleth sighed. “Fine.”

Claude turned and rushed to Petra’s side. “Claude!” Petra said, a shocked smile on her face. Dorothea muttered something about Claude being like a lost puppy. “I thought you had class?”

“It got cancelled,” Claude explained. Petra and Dorothea looked behind him briefly, he assumed at Byleth. “Did you know Flayn was missing?”

“We just learned,” Dorothea answered. She hugged her torso tightly. “The idea of such a think happening here is a nightmare. Could you imagine if someone kidnapped Flayn to ra—“

“Let’s leave the speculation for another time,” Byleth said as she approached. “We just want to find her as quickly as possible. Do either of you have any clues? Has anything been out of place today?”

“Well, other than Manuela’s strange mood, I would say not,” Dorothea replied. Petra frowned at her.

“You have been seeing Professor Manuela today? I assumed she was hung—“ Petra cut herself off and glanced at Byleth. “I mean, I thought she was feeling sick today.”

“She’s not sick,” Dorothea said. “I saw her run past me earlier today, a serious look on her face. She didn’t even say hi to me, which is unusual for her.”

“Do you know where Professor Manuela is now?” Byleth asked. Dorothea shook her head.

“I imagine she went back up to the infirmary,” she replied. “That’s where she usually is at this hour.”

Byleth nodded. “Let’s go, then, Claude. She may know something.” Byleth turned on her heels towards the stairs, but Claude hesitated for a moment. He took Petra’s hand in his.

“I know I said we would celebrate your birthday tonight,” he began in a hushed tone, ignoring Dorothea’s eyes boring a hole into the side of his head. “But if this doesn’t get resolved—“

“Go,” Petra finished. “This is being much more important right now. We can move the birthday festivities.”

Claude kissed her quickly. “You’re the best,” he whispered, taking off in the direction where Byleth was headed. He reached her at the stairs, trying not to pant.

They walked wordlessly to the infirmary, only to find it empty. “Dammit!” Byleth cursed under her breath. Jeralt passed by the doorway at that moment and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Looking for Manuela?” he asked. His expression was full of concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?” He suddenly looked at Claude, as if just then noticing his presence. “Or. . . Dealing with some other affliction?”

“Oh, my goddess,” Byleth groaned, looking the most distraught that Claude had ever seen her. He would have laughed, were Jeralt not still looking at him like he was going to draw his sword and run him through. “No, Dad. We haven’t—Claude has a g—Have you seen Professor Manuela?”

Jeralt turned back to his daughter. “I saw her earlier this morning. She blew right past me in a hurry.”

“One of the students told us the same thing a few minutes ago,” Byleth said. “Do you happen to know where she was headed?”

Jeralt shrugged. “Not in the slightest, I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment, as if in thought. “Though. . . She was carrying something in her hand, now that I think about it. It looked like a small white mask.”

Claude’s stomach clenched instinctively at the word “mask,” but when he recovered from the knee-jerk reaction, he and Byleth looked at each other. “Now, who around the monastery do we know that wears a small white mask?”

“Jeritza,” Byleth finished. She looked to her dad again. “Have you seen him at all today?”

“No,” Jeralt replied. “I usually see him in the knight’s hall and share a drink with him in the evenings, but he hasn’t been there the last couple of nights.”

“We have to go,” Byleth said quickly. Jeralt raised an arm to stop her.

“What is this about?” he murmured to her. Claude did not think Byleth could see the way Jeralt side-eyed him again.

“Have you heard about Flayn?” Byleth asked.

Jeralt’s face drew itself down in anger. Claude figured he was imagining his own reaction if Byleth had gone missing, rather than the rage being directed at the actual situation at hand. “If you think Jeritza is involved, I can come as back-up.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Byleth assured him. “My students and I can handle one man.”

Jeralt raised an eyebrow at Claude like he was unconvinced, but nodded his head regardless. Byleth patted his cheek as she left, calling for Claude to follow.

“Watch over her,” Jeralt whispered to Claude as he passed. Claude gave Jeralt a serious nod, too much in a hurry to bother telling the older man that he doubted Byleth would ever need his protection.

Claude had to hurry to catch up to Byleth again. For as short as she was, she walked like someone at least six inches taller when she was on a mission. She hardly noticed when Claude was right at her side again. “I’ll kill him myself if he touched her,” Byleth muttered. Claude put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.

“Hopefully she’s unharmed,” he murmured back to her. Byleth looked up at him, her eyes filled with an unchecked rage that he had only seen once before on Zanado.

“You don’t have much experience with kidnapped girls, do you?” Byleth said in a tone that filled Claude with guilt. She sped on ahead towards the classroom. None of Claude’s classmates had arrived yet, but there were still a few minutes until the hour mark. Byleth paced restlessly back and forth, her fists tightly clenched. “Where the hell are they?” she growled.

“We gave them an hour,” Claude explained as calmly as he could manage. “They’ll be here soon.”

Byleth halted in her tracks. “I know,” she finally said.

“I didn’t realize that you were so close to Flayn.”

“I’m not,” Byleth said. “I mean, I’ve seen her around, but otherwise I would say I’m about as close to her as any other person at the monastery.”

“Then why are you acting so. . . I don’t know, unraveled? It’s hardly like you,” Claude said. Byleth’s eyebrows knitted together.

“I’ve been hired to rescue kidnapped girls before,” she whispered. “I’ve seen what happens when you don’t reach them in time.” She sighed deeply. “And Flayn is such a sweet girl. . .”

Claude caught Byleth’s hand as she began pacing again, instinctively pulling her in for a hug to calm her. “We’ll get there in time,” he assured her.

Byleth pulled away from him slowly. “We better,” she replied. There was a threat in her tone, though Claude did not think it was directed at him.

Leonie burst in through the door, Raphael in tow. Claude and Byleth took a step away from each other. “Just got back. . .” Leonie panted. “From the training grounds. Professor Jeritza. . . Supposed to meet Catherine. . . Never showed.”

“We asked around,” Raphael added in smoothly, as if he had not run an equal distance, “and it seems no one has seen him since the day Flayn disappeared.” His face was contorted in anger as he spoke the last words.

“We’re starting to draw the same conclusion,” Claude told them. “We think Manuela might have gotten herself caught up in this as well, though we aren’t certain. Once everyone else gets back, we are going to confront Jeritza in his quarters.”

Leonie and Raphael nodded grimly in reply. Moments later, the other students all arrived in their pairs. Claude and Byleth briefly and urgently filled each of them in. “We need to grab weapons,” Leonie pointed out. “If we are right about Jeritza, and he means to fight—“

“The knight’s hall is well-stocked with weapons, and conveniently right by Jeritza’s quarters,” Claude reminded her. He looked toward Byleth. “We can grab what we need and head out from there.”

Byleth nodded. “Let’s move out, then. We’ve wasted enough time.” She marched out the door and the Golden Deer followed her in haste. When they reached the knight’s hall, they each took a weapon, with Byleth assuring the guard on duty that they were on a mission and not a senseless raid. Claude grabbed a bow with a decent pull to the string and slung it over his shoulder, then headed back out toward’s Jeritza’s room, hoping the others were right behind him. He tried to open the door when he reached it, but the door was locked.

“Jeritza!” Claude called, pounding on the door. “Open up!”

“Allow me,” Byleth growled. She moved Claude out of the way with her hand, then gave the door a kick. It opened swiftly at the impact.

Byleth barreled in, followed by Claude, Hilda, and the others. Jeritza was nowhere to be found, but Manuela lay sprawled unconscious on the floor.

“Professor Manuela!” Hilda squealed. Claude knelt down to check her pulse. She was alive, thank the gods, but the pool of blood forming around her abdomen made him nervous. Claude looked down at Manuela’s limp arm stretched out, and noticed that she seemed to be pointing at something.

“Hilda, what’s behind that shelf over there?” he asked. Hilda gave him a confused look, then headed towards the shelf.

“There seems to be. . . One sec,” Hilda grunted. She pressed her shoulder against the side of the shelf and pushed, revealing a sliver of a secret passageway behind it. Byleth and Raphael squeezed by Claude and Manuela to help Hilda move the heavy furniture completely out of the way. “Damn,” Hilda panted. “I was just thinking we would find Flayn shoved in a closet, not down a creepy secret tunnel under one of the professor’s rooms. . .”

Marianne crept into the room and knelt beside Claude. “Is she—“

“What in the name of the goddess is going on here?!” Professor Hanneman exclaimed, pushing past the remaining students into the room. His face was contorted in rage, then dropped to shock when he saw Manuela unconscious on the floor.

“Jeritza must have stabbed her,” Byleth answered hurriedly. “My students and I are going down the tunnel to confront him, but she needs to get to the infirmary.”

“Do you expect me to carry her myself!” Hanneman exclaimed. He looked down at Claude, who was still by her side. “You. Help me pick her up. There is no time to waste.”

Claude opened his mouth to argue, but Hanneman was right. It was selfish of him to want to go down the tunnel with Byleth and the others. He looked up to Byleth, who had pleading eyes. “Go. I’ll meet you as soon as I can.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Marianne offered as the other students followed Byleth down the tunnel.

“No,” Claude asserted, though his instincts wanted him to keep her nearby, where she would undoubtedly be safe. “Flayn might need your healing skills. Professor Hanneman can help with Manuela.” Marianne frowned, but she nodded her head regardless and ran into the tunnel.

“Come now,” Hanneman urged. “Grab her arms, and I’ll take her legs. Gently now. Yes, like that. Watch her head. Okay, now one step forward. . .”

Claude followed Hanneman’s instructions, tenderly carrying an unconscious Manuela across the monastery grounds and up the stairs to her infirmary. Of course, that meant that they were seen by half the staff and students, each of which wondered in shock what had happened to her, would she be okay, how could they help. . . And made the process of carrying her take so much longer. Claude’s heart raced. He wanted to be with his classmates as soon as possible, keeping them safe. Keeping Byleth safe.

He shook the thought out of his head.

Byleth could take care of herself. She did not need his protection, did not need _him_.

“Where do you want her?” Claude asked Hanneman as they crossed the threshold of the infirmary doorway.

“On the first bed,” Hanneman grunted. Sweat was dewing on his brow from the effort. When they had her settled, Hanneman looked up at him from lowered eyebrows. “I need to examine the wound. Fetch me a pair of scissors so I can cut her dress.”

“Are you sure she won’t be—never mind. I’ll look.”

Manuela was a slob, and her infirmary reflected that. Medical tools were splayed across every surface with no rhyme or reason in their placement. Even with Hanneman helping, it took a few minutes before a pair of scissors could be found. “It looks like a single stab wound. . .” Hanneman muttered to himself, removing the fabric of Manuela’s dress from the area. “Fairly clean. I should be able to bandage it without needing much magic. Claude! Where do you think you’re going?”

“To help Teach?” Claude reminded him.

“She has help. I don’t. I need you here.”

Claude looked down at Hanneman’s bloodied hands, at Manuela’s chest raising and lowering rapidly with her short breaths. She was stirring, groaning incoherently to herself now. “What else do you need?” Claude asked numbly.

“Manuela keeps her hard liquor stashed on the high shelf of her cabinet. Fetch me a bottle.”

“Are you a scotch or a whiskey guy?”

Hanneman glared. “It’s to clean the wound.”

Claude gulped. “On it,” he said. He opened the cabinet, fumbling through the various bottles. “She has one specifically for cleaning,” Claude called over his shoulder. He handed it to Hanneman, who was already threading a needle for stitches. Manuela gasped suddenly, her eyes wide open.

“Jeritza!” she exclaimed, groaning as she clutched her side. Hanneman pressed his hands on her shoulders and forced her back down. “I think Professor Jeritza took Flayn!” Manuela gasped.

“We know,” Hanneman assured her, his hands still on her shoulders. “Professor Byleth and her students are seeking her out now.” Manuela visibly relaxed, and Hanneman stood up straight again. She tenderly touched her side and groaned.

“That piece of shit stabbed me.”

Hanneman cleared his throat, jerking his chin towards Claude.

“I’ve heard worse,” Claude said with a shrug.

“Hanneman,” Manuela sighed. She was sounding more coherent already. “Were you going to stitch me up? Like a stuffed animal?”

Hanneman sputtered. “Well, not all of us are as proficient in healing magic as you are. Seeing as the alternative was letting you bleed to death—“

“Oh, hush. I’ll take care of this myself.” Ignoring Hanneman’s protests, Manuela sat herself up, hovering a hand lightly over her side. She muttered an incantation and the skin on her side pulled itself together, leaving a reddened mark where the blade had entered her skin. Manuela groaned as her head fell backwards.

“If you had just listened to me, you would have recalled that performing magic on oneself requires _twice_ the energy as—“

“Shut up, Hanneman,” Manuela muttered. She rested her arm across her eyes. “Claude, darling, will you be a dear and pour me a stiff one?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Claude replied as Hanneman muttered something about her unprofessional behavior. As Claude took down a glass and a bottle, a clamor arose from down the hall. Claude hastily set down the glass and the bottle and ran to see what was happening. Fear gripped his throat. _Please let them be okay. Please let them be okay. . ._

Raphael’s frame took up most of the hallway. He had Flayn cradled in his arms, like a sleeping toddler. Claude stepped out of the way so Raphael could step in and set her on the bed beside Manuela. Claude could hear Manuela begin barking orders at Raphael and Hanneman as Byleth called, “Hold her steady! We need to get her in there.” Claude was simultaneously filled with relief and dread. Byleth was okay, but if Flayn was already in the infirmary, who could she be talking about? Hilda, Leonie, Lysithea?

Marianne?

Sylvain and Lorenz stepped into the room, carrying a teenage girl with striking red hair in their arms. She was wearing an academy uniform, but Claude was positive he had never seen the girl before.

“Monica?!” Manuela screeched, followed by another pained groan.

“Magic stitches are not the same as internal healing,” Hanneman scolded her.

“I can help with that!” Marianne offered, rushing in. She hurried to Manuela’s side, listening intently as the older woman gave her orders for healing herself and looking over the other two girls for injuries.

“It’s getting crowded in here,” Byleth from the doorway. “Come on, boys. Let’s let the healers do their jobs.” Claude, Sylvain, Lorenz and Raphael shuffled out into the hallway together. Claude watched Byleth lean down to Lysithea and whisper something to her. Lysithea nodded and sped away.

The remaining Golden Deer huddled around Byleth in a circle. “That was shit,” Hilda muttered. She was furiously wiping at a red mark on her shirt with a handkerchief. “I feel creeped out. I feel gross—“

“It is a shame you could not be there, Claude,” Lorenz huffed. He had a confident curl to his thin lips. “I would have liked for you to witness our mortal struggle against the Death Knight.”

“The Death Knight was there?!” Claude asked.

“Uhh, yeah!” Hilda scoffed. “With Jeritza nowhere in sight.” She shuddered dramatically. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they were the same person. Creep.”

“At least you were able to rescue Flayn, and. . . Who was that other girl, by the way?” Claude asked.

“None of us know,” Ignatz replied. “She’s clearly a student, but none of us have seen her before.”

“She was a Black Eagles student last year,” Hanneman answered. He was standing in the doorway, cleaning his hands off with a rag. “She disappeared about a year ago, but we never heard word from her family inquiring about her, so it was generally assumed that she dropped out and went home.” His eyes were clouded, as if he were deep in thought. “To think she’s been right under our noses—literally—this entire time. . .”

“What matters is that she’s safe now,” Byleth said, patting him assuredly on the shoulder.

Lysithea returned with Seteth beside her. His eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and relief. “Flayn?” he called. “Where’s Flayn?!”

“Just in here,” Hanneman replied. “She is unconscious but otherwise unharmed. I’m sure she will want to see her brother when she awakens.”

Seteth looked ready to roll over everyone like a boulder to get to her, but he stopped himself to look at Byleth. “You rescued her?” Seteth asked. His face looked softer than Claude had ever seen it. Byleth nodded at the green-haired man, and he looked ready to cry. “I owe you my eternal gratitude. Should you ever need anything. . .”

“Think nothing of it,” Byleth assured him. “Go see to your sister.” Seteth nodded then sped to his sister’s side.

Claude watched Byleth during the entire exchange, even as the other students dismissed themselves from the crowded hallway and left the two of them alone, trying to decipher what about her seemed. . . different.

“Hey, Teach. . .” he said carefully. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile.”

And it truly was. Sure, she would give the occasional sarcastic smirk, or do that little thing where her eyes crinkled and the corners of her lips twitched upward ever so slightly. But this. . . teeth showing, lips curved upward, eyes soft, was the first true genuine smile he had ever seen her give.

“Did you think I was incapable?” Byleth asked, seeming out of breath.

“Well. . . sort of,” Claude admitted with a laugh. Byleth rolled her eyes at him, that smile still on her face.

“You know, I’ve had my fair share of jobs searching for girls who went missing. Few of them turn out less than half as well as this did. We found Flayn, safe and sound. . . And untouched, as Hanneman said. Then there was the look on Seteth’s face just now. . . I mean, think about it, have we had a victory yet this year that didn’t have a taint to it?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Claude laughed. He leaned against the wall beside her. “Not even losing track of Jeritza is going to get you down?”

“Nope. Not today. Don’t even try. I feel. . . Dare I say, happy,” she sighed with a smile. “Any negativity can wait until another day. Today, I savor my victory.” She leaned back against the wall as well. “Thank you, Claude.”

“For what? I didn’t even fight with guys you today.”

“True,” Byleth said. “But I mean, for everything. You’ve always been supportive and helpful on these missions. I don’t think I could have gotten through it without you.”

Claude raised an eyebrow at his professor. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my Teach?”

Byleth laughed, clear as a bell, sending shivers down Claude’s spine. “Stop your teasing, von Riegan,” she said. Claude wasn’t so sure that he _was_ teasing. “I don’t know. Have you ever had something happen to you where everything just. . . Clicked into place?”

Claude smiled. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said to Byleth. He squeezed her hand briefly, then pulled away, not sure if the physical contact was inappropriate under the circumstances.

As if reading his mind, Byleth looked at him and said, “Did Petra tell you about our afternoon tea at all?”

“A little, yeah,” Claude said, feeling a tightness in his chest that he could not explain.

“I like her,” Byleth said. “She’s very smart. Very funny, too.”

Claude laughed. “She said nearly the exact same thing about you,” he said, deciding it would be best to leave out the part where Petra compared Byleth to his mother.

Byleth’s smile appeared more forced for a second. Did she know what Petra thought about her already? Had her and Petra had a talk about Claude that he did not know about? His heart began to race. He must have had a worried expression on his face, because Byleth pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Are you thinking about how you had to reschedule your date tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m afraid I might not get to celebrate her birthday for the next few days now,” Claude said, going along with the assumption. It was a better alternative than explaining that talking with Byleth about Petra made him nervous in a way that made no logical sense.

“Go on, then,” Byleth said. “Nothing is going to change by you standing here waiting for the girls to wake up. I’m the professor, I’ll stand by until Rhea arrives and debrief her. I can fill you in tomorrow. Time is precious, and it should not be wasted.”

Claude visibly relaxed. “Thanks, Teach,” he said, already heading towards the stairs.

Claude did not dislike Monica

But he certainly did not _like_ her either.

He probably would not find her so obnoxious if he did not have to see her nearly every day. But since he was dating Petra, and Petra was friends with Edelgard, and Edelgard had decided to take Monica under her wing, there was no escaping her. “Oh, the hunk is back,” Monica said as Claude approached. Claude forced a smile in her direction as he sat beside Petra in the mess hall. Monica leaned forward with a wink. “Getting tired of your Golden Deer, lovie?”

“I just want to eat lunch with my girlfriend,” Claude replied carefully, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone. Dorothea flipped her hair, catching his attention. When he looked up at her, she rolled her eyes dramatically. She seemed to be the only one in the group who was less than pleased to have Monica around, though Claude assumed it was more out of jealousy than annoyance. 

“Well, Petra is just going to have to share, because the only other guy who ever comes around to visit with us regularly is Hubert, and he’s not as fun to flirt with. Wouldn’t you agree, Edel?” Monica teased. 

“Monica, please,” Petra said with a laugh. “Be leaving him alone.” She leaned upward and kissed Claude’s cheek. “Are you having free time for the rest of day?”

“No, actually, I have to go see Teach right after I eat.”

Edelgard raised her eyebrows. “You know, I never noticed until you started dating Petra, but you spend a large amount of time with Professor Byleth.”

Claude resisted the urge to glare up at Edelgard. She still had not apologized for the night that she confronted him, nor did she seem to be in the least bit repentant about it. But what made Claude so on edge around her was the fact tat she acted like it had never even happened. As if Claude did not have enough reasons to fear he was going mad!

He wondered if part of it had to do with the fact that two Black Eagle students had recently transferred to the Golden Deer class. The first was Caspar, a cheery and eager boy who believed that Byleth could teach him more about being a knight than Manuela ever could. He was followed shortly after by Linhardt, who joined after hearing that Flayn had enrolled in Byleth’s class after the kidnapping incident, muttering something about studying her crest. Maybe Edelgard hoped her amiable nature would help her convince them to transfer back.

Petra squeezed Claude’s hand under the table warningly, keeping him from saying anything snide. She was aware of the tension between the two, but when Claude had tried to give her the details of their late-night encounter, Petra had cut him off, saying he must have misinterpreted her words, as Edelgard was too kind and good to ever do something to her boyfriend behind her back. She would not tell Claude if Edelgard had given her side of the story first, and Claude had stopped asking. There was no point in stirring up the same argument repeatedly when it would get him nowhere.

“Sleeping with the professor for a good grade?” Monica asked playfully. “That’s a little kinky, though I wouldn’t be so obvious about it in front of your girlfriend. It’s usually considered a no-no to sleep with two girls at once, at least it was last I checked.”

Now Petra was the one who visibly tensed, her hands clenched into fists. They were, in fact, not sleeping together—not that they had never been close—but that didn’t stop people from making the joke with increasing frequency around them. In this moment, however, Claude found the joke far from funny. “I am thinking lunch is not very appetizing today,” Petra said. She rose stiffly from the table and left. Claude stood to follow her, shooting Monica a look that he hoped read something along the lines of “What the fuck were you thinking by saying something like that?” But Monica looked at him innocently in reply, as if confused by his anger. Claude huffed impatiently then ran to catch up with his girlfriend.

“I honestly don’t know how you can stand her,” Claude growled through gritted teeth. “Her sense of humor is frankly obnoxious and fucked up.”

“She is friends with Edelgard,” Petra said curtly. Claude had no idea what that was supposed to portray, but Petra did not elaborate any further.

“You’re mad,” Claude whispered.

“That is being obvious.”

“What can I do to make you feel better?” Claude asked. He reached for her hand, but she flicked him away, stopping suddenly. Claude looked around. He did not want to make a scene out in the open. “Come on,” he whispered gently, leading her to a small corner in the gardens where no one could hear them. “Petra, please, talk to me.”

“Do you know that you have not been spending time with me this last month?” Petra asked. She would not look at him, but her eyes were brimming with tears. Claude wanted to hug her, to wipe the tears away, to do _something_, but Petra’s body language made it clear that she was not in the mood to be touched by him. “Yes, we are eating together, we are saying hi between classes. You are squeezing me in between busy moments. But all of your free time is being spent with the professor. And if you are not visiting with her, you are reading that book she gave you on your birthday.”

Claude’s throat seemed to close on him as he fumbled for the right words to say. Yes, he spent a lot of time with Byleth, but most of it involved strategies for missions, or discussions on the issues going on with his classmates and how to best approach them, or training with a bow or that _stupid_ axe that Byleth was so convinced Claude should learn to wield. Their meetings had only increased recently with the Battle of Eagle and Lion approaching. So what if every once and a while they just hung out with each other when the meetings were over?

As for the book. . . Claude was beginning to notice quite a few references to time in the pages, which only fueled his obsession. The poems never spelled it out directly, but it seemed to Claude that the goddess either lived outside of time, or was otherwise able to manipulate it to her whim. One poem in particular, Claude found himself reading every night:

_With a beam of light, the goddess stretched out her hands_

_The very tips of her fingers were glowing_

_As she rotated her palms against the two warring bands_

_The clash of their weapons began slowing_

_Every action rewound until memory faded_

_And the goddess entered the world, a new timeline created_

The last two lines were marked in his book. Claude had developed a theory, albeit a feeble one, that his phantom memories were of moments that had occurred before time was turned backwards. He wondered if the goddess was manipulating his life in some way, though he could not fathom what her motives would be. Claude believed that the goddess was a real being, but he was not so sure that she would be particularly interested in him. After all, his belief in her existence was about as devout as Claude got to the church. So why would the goddess they worshipped want to pay him any particular attention?

The more he thought about it, though, the more Claude realized that his obsession with the theory was pulling him away from socializing. Not just with Petra, but with everyone. He looked Petra in the eye, feeling a pit of guilt in his stomach. “You’re right,” Claude said. “I’ve been distracted lately, and because of that, I’ve kinda been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

Petra smiled, ever so slightly, though a tear still ran down her face. “I am thinking ‘kinda’ is not a strong enough word, but yes.” Her body language relaxed a bit.

Claude gently kissed her face where the tear had run down. “I’ll make you a promise then. I _do_ have to meet with Teach here soon, but I swear I won’t touch a single book tonight. As soon as I’m free, I’ll come straight to you. We can sneak out, do a little star-gazing? Watch the sun rise? Get a lecture from Seteth in the morning when we inevitably get caught? It’ll be fun.”

Now Petra was laughing. She wrapped her arms around Claude’s neck and pulled him close. “I am having interest in this plan,” she said into his neck. “I do like getting into trouble with you.”

“As I’m well aware. I seem to have that affect on you,” Claude teased. Petra nipped at his neck, sending a wave of heat over Claude’s body.

“And. . .” Petra’s voice tapered off. There was a peculiar glint in her eyes when she looked up at him, a mixture of mischief and. . . Something else. Claude suspected he knew what it was.

“And?” Claude prodded.

“Hey!” A passing monk yelled. “Separate, the two of you! Shoo! Shoo!”

Claude snuck in one more kiss for good measure before he and Petra scurried in opposite directions, laughing with faces flushed. Claude still had a stupid grin on his face when he reached Byleth’s door. “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Byleth said questioningly when she opened the door. “How’s Petra?”

“Good. She’s. . . Very good,” Claude replied with a slight laugh. Byleth raised her eyebrows as she turned away from him, back into her room.

“I know it’s nice out, but let’s stay in here today. I don’t want someone stumbling into the courtyard when we are going over super-top-secret strategies for the Battle of Eagle and Lion. I’m also afraid that my map might blow away in the breeze.”

“Sure, sounds fine to me,” Claude said absently. His mind was still on Petra’s last word to him as he sat down in the only chair in Byleth’s quarters. There was quite a bit riding on that single “and,” and while Claude wasn’t quite sure he was ready for. . . What he assumed Petra meant in that “and”. . . He found the prospect of it quite distracting. Byleth was elaborating on the best way to handle the Black Eagles and the Blue Lions at once, as the field would be far more open than when they blah blah blah, so they should blah blah blah blah, and Claude was only catching every other word. He was too busy focusing on taking deep breaths to steady his racing heartbeat. “Claude, are you even listening to me?”

“Have you ever had sex?” Claude blurted. His eyes widened. Byleth slowly turned away from her map and took a seat across from him on her bed. “I did _not_ mean to—“

“Yes, I have,” Byleth answered, causing Claude to clamp his mouth shut. “Once. Probably a year or so before coming to the monastery.”

“Oh,” Claude said, not really sure how to continue this conversation that he had not even meant to start. Though now his mind was filled to the brim with questions. “Look. . . You don’t have to—“

“Are you going to be able to focus if I don’t answer your questions?”

Claude smiled nervously, his face turning red. “Probably not, if I’m being honest.”

Byleth smile weakly back. “What do you want to know?”

“What. . . What was it like? And who was it with?” Byleth hardly seemed the type to be whisked away in a whirlwind romance, so if someone had caught her fancy before, Claude was curious to know what kind of guy could manage that.

Byleth laughed. Her face was beginning to flush as well. “Growing up in a mercenary troupe, I was surrounded by young men. Some who ran away from home, others who were orphaned or needed to help feed their younger siblings. He was one such guy. . . Most of them avoided me, for reasons I assume were at least in part due to my father being the leader of our group. It also likely had something to do with the fact that I was not interested in anything beyond my blade. . . I think that’s what made him stand out to me. Every morning, he would offer to train with me. And he was pretty good with a sword, too.” Byleth smiled to herself, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked beyond Claude at nothing in particular. “It wasn’t long before I began standing by him on missions, knowing that he would always have my back as I had his. . . Fast forward several months later, and we were in some tavern that gave us rooms for the night, as a thank you for helping the village with a rabid wolf issue. He asked me if I would meet him in his room after everyone else had gone to sleep. I knew what he was really asking, and. . . I said yes.” She sighed, tilting her head to look in Claude in the eye. “In hindsight, I’m not sure I would have said yes if I had the chance to do it all over again. It wasn’t anything particularly memorable. But I wasn’t sure I would ever get the chance to experience it again, so I thought, ‘why the hell not?’ And tried not to think about my decision beyond that.”

“What happened to the guy after?”

Byleth shrugged. “Men came and went from the troupe all the time, for a variety of reasons. I don’t know what his were. I just know that I saw him for a day or two after that night, then he was gone. I don’t think I’ve even thought about him again until now.”

Claude huffed. “You don’t exactly paint the most romantic picture, Teach.”

“You wanted to know, and I have given my answer,” Byleth replied with a smirk. She laced her hands together, staring down intently at them. “Have you already slept with Petra?” she asked quietly.

“No,” Claude told her. His face was burning, and he really hoped that her questions would end there.

Byleth sighed, then was silent for a moment. When she finally lifted her head, she stood up, walking stiffly to her small collection of books stacked on her secondary desk. “I have a book among my list of contraband,” she began, fingering the side of each text as she searched for the right one. “I’m sure Seteth would kill me if he ever knew I had it in my possession, but for the women in our mercenary group, it was considered a second bible. One of the women who worked with us for over a decade gave me my copy as a gift when I. . .” Byleth hummed to herself. “When I became a woman.” She pulled one of the books out of the neatly stacked row and handed it to Claude. It was thin, with no title that Claude could identify. Had he seen it on her shelf before, he probably would have assumed it was a small ledger or diary. “There’s a chapter in there on contraceptives. I imagine at least somewhere in the greenhouse, you will find the herbs listed for you that will prevent pregnancy. If you are going to sleep with her, I recommend you _discretely_ build a stash for yourself and Petra as quickly as possible.”

Claude slowly tucked the small book into the hidden pocket of his cloak, keeping his eyes locked with Byleth’s though his primal instincts told him to flee from the room _as soon as he possibly could_ to avoid any further embarrassment. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, trying to dissuade me from this decision? Telling me that it’s irresponsible, I’m so young, I have my whole life to experience these things, I shouldn’t rush into anything with a girl I’ve only known for a few months, something along those lines?” He was rambling, a side effect of being nervous, along with his body feeling frozen in place. He awaited her answer expectantly, part of him hoping she would argue with him, tell him those overused cliches about the benefits of waiting and abstinence. Maybe that would ease the tension in his chest as he watched her.

Byleth’s eyes were just as intent on him. Without missing a beat, she told him, “It wouldn’t do any good. If you’ve already made up your mind, then I can’t stop you short of physically restraining you, now can I? At least this way I can keep you both safe and informed as you make your decision.” Claude swallowed hard and nodded, finally feeling like he could drop his gaze again. He said nothing, and neither did Byleth. Several moments passed in the silence. “We can talk about the Battle of the Eagle and Lion tomorrow,” Byleth finally said weakly. “I just remembered that I promised Raphael I would do some weight training with him, so. . .”

“Sure thing.” Claude stood up and hastily left the room, not sure how to even end the discussion in a way that would break the tension between them. He only prayed that the other students did not notice the deep red shade of his face as he passed them by.

It was mostly dark outside when Claude reached Petra’s door, a poorly-wrapped bundle of blankets tucked hastily under his arm. He hoped the night would not be too cold for them to enjoy the stars, as he thought the fresh air would be good for them.

Tucked inside the blankets’ folds was a jar of herbs that Claude had procured after hastily skimming through Byleth’s book. He did not expect to use them—as a matter of fact, the longer the day went on, the more Claude convinced himself that he had misinterpreted Petra’s meaning, and _of course_ there would be no need for those herbs _you stupid hormonal teenager_—but he decided to bring them regardless. Just to be safe.

Petra opened the door for him as soon as he knocked, hastily pulling him into the room then locking her door behind him. “Was anyone seeing you?” she asked quietly.

“No, and even if they did, it’s not quite curfew anyway,” Claude assured her. He leaned down, kissing Petra lightly on the lips. “I figured we could head out in an hour. It’s not quite late enough for all of the stars to be out, unless you would rather—”

“We will not be viewing the stars tonight,” Petra said, her voice firm enough to catch Claude off guard.

“We aren’t?” He asked carefully, setting his bundle on the ground by his feet.

“No,” Petra said simply. Her jaw was set firm, and she stood rigidly in front of him, sending Claude’s mind in a million directions as he tried to gauge the situation.

“Then. . . What are we doing?” he wondered. In an instant, Petra was pressed up against him, kissing him fervently with her hands in his hair. Claude gave into her, nipping softly at her lower lip and slipping his tongue into her mouth as she moaned softly. One of her hands moved down slowly between them, reaching for Claude’s belt as she began to unfasten it.

Claude froze in place.

“What’s wrong?” Petra whispered.

“We don’t have to do this,” Claude reminded her softly, ignoring the heat he felt where her hips were pressing into him.

“I know,” Petra said, though she took a step back. She slowly unfastened the buttons on her shirt with hands that shook slightly in anticipation, lightly pulling apart the fabric until her bare skin was exposed. “But I want to,” she said, a nervous smile on her face. Then, in a whisper, “don’t you?”

Claude swallowed, his eyes unable to leave the curve of her skin as she continued undressing in front of him. Petra laughed breathily, seemingly taking pleasure in the reaction she was getting out of him. She stood before him naked, her clothes in a pool at her feet. She stepped out of the pile, taking Claude by the hand and leading him toward her bed. “Should I—?” Claude asked dumbfounded, fumbling with the fabric of his own shirt as well. Petra nodded, slipping her fingers underneath his shirt to help him lift it above his head. His hands were shaking, but his body was eager. He started kissing her again, unable to wait until he was fully unclothed as well. When Petra reached down toward his belt again, the pair laughed nervously in unison.

“Will you help me—“

“Is this—“

More giggling.

“How do I—“

More kissing.

More fumbling.

“Are you sure?”

More giggling.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

They paused for a moment, eyes of green gazing into eyes of brown.

“I love you.”

“. . . I love you, too.”

Claude traced over Petra’s back tattoos with his finger as she slept beside him. He smiled lazily. “_Marks of a warrior goddess_,” he whispered to her in his native tongue. “_Would I be able to mark myself like you? If I thought it meant protecting my family? Making my dreams come true?_” He smiled to himself. “_I doubt I could. You are far more faithful to a prayer, and more brave in the face of a needle. I do not like the idea of pricking my skin. . . But your markings are beautiful. Beautiful like you_.”

Petra stirred, turning her head to blink up at him sleepily. “I was not understanding what you were saying,” she whispered.

Claude leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I was talking to your tattoos,” he said, making her laugh quietly. She turned around to face him, taking his braid between two of her fingers and twirling it slightly.

“Can you answer something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Why are you only braiding part of your hair?”

Claude smiled. “Where I come from, it is a sign that I am an unmarried man. You leave a strand braided until your wedding day, then your husband or wife cuts the lock, preserves it, and keeps it until their death. The braid is buried with them as a sign of a piece of you remaining with them until eternity.”

“Hmmm,” Petra hummed, still playing with the braid. “And what if you are not marrying until many years after becoming a man?”

“Then you have a very long braid,” Claude answered with amusement. Then, in a more serious tone, “Men in Al—my homeland, don’t usually marry until years after men in Fódlan are wed. It is considered rare to meet your soulmate young, and foolish to rush into marriage. Divorce is taken very seriously, and as such, a pledge of union between two people is no light matter.”

“I see,” Petra said thoughtfully. She let the braid fall and cupped her hand to Claude’s face. Claude could read in her eyes that she wanted to say more, but it went unsaid. She buried her face in his neck. “You should be leaving soon, before it gets too late.”

Claude kissed her hair and held her tighter. “No,” he whispered. “I can stay a little longer.”

Byleth needed to relax. Her pulse had not stopped racing since her conversation with Claude that afternoon. She tried sparring with Raphael at first, but that only seemed to wind her up more. Then she tried fishing. Fishing was mindless, however, and what she needed was a distraction. So, Byleth wandered the monastery grounds, talking with her students, picking up lost items along the paths and returning them to their owners. She even grabbed a drink with her father in the nearby town and reminisced about their times as mercenaries. Everything helped for a moment, but when each task was done, her mind went straight back to where she did not wish for it to go.

It was dark when she finally gave up and decided to return to her quarters. A movement caught her eye by the dormitories, and her chest ached when she realized it was _him_, a bundle poorly tucked under his arm as he slipped into Petra’s room.

Byleth was grateful for the lack of light, as it concealed her face from anyone who passed by her as she hurried back to her room. Tears were already welling up in her eyes by the time she closed the door behind her and collapsed against it. _What a stupid reason to cry_, Byleth thought angrily, tasting the salt in her mouth from tears now flowing in a steady stream. _Especially considering that _you_ were the one to encourage him. _You_ were the one that wanted some space between you and him_.

Until two months ago, Byleth had never cried before. Not once, not even as a child. She understood pain and loss, but had never been able to express it physically. But this stupid boy, whose fleeting touch set her body on fire, whose caring smile drew emotion out of her like water from a well, who made her feel guilty every time she remembered he was her _student_, and therefore should not be someone she had these feelings for, whose life she had saved more times than he would ever know, and whose dead body she had held before in her arms. . .

This was now the second time that she cried over him.

But there would be no turning back the hands this time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Eagle and Lion comes with a tainted victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I didn’t put this announcement up already so I’m sorry to everyone who misses this, but next week I won’t be able to upload a chapter until Monday because my boyfriend’s birthday is this Sunday! The following week will be back to our regularly-scheduled programming.

Two days before the academy left for Gronder field, it finally hit him. Claude and Hilda were practicing their axe swings with Byleth, when a Black Eagles student accidentally knocked over one of the racks of training weapons. The rack fell on top of Hilda, crushing her at the base of her spine. The impact sent her to the ground with a cry of pain. “Claude,” she sobbed hysterically as he ran to her side. “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel my—“

He looked up to Byleth, a plea of desperation on his face. But Byleth wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were concentrating on Hilda, a bead of sweat on her brow. Her palms were tilted upward, and she rotated them in a clockwork motion, almost as if she was—saw ehsfisatsomla—

. . . When a Black Eagles student accidentally knocked over one of the racks of training weapons. Byleth pulled Hilda out of the way just before the massive wooden structure struck her spine. Claude blinked. He swore that Byleth had been on the other side of the courtyard just moments ago.

“Whoa,” Hilda exclaimed with a nervous laugh, looking down at the weapons sprawled on the floor from the fall. “That coulda been an ugly bruise.”

“Oh, my goddess!” the Black Eagles student exclaimed. “I am so sorry! I was just trying to return the training lance, and—I don’t even know how I—”

“It looks like one of the legs on the rack is loose,” Byleth explained, observing the wooden stand that now lay on its side. She gently kicked one of the legs, and sure enough, the nails that were holding it in place easily came loose from their pegs. “It wasn’t your fault, but please be careful next time. I’ll go speak with Seteth about getting the other racks inspected so nobody gets hurt in the future.”

“Thank you, professor!” The student huffed, their eyes still wide. Hilda walked over to Claude, leaning on her axe casually.

“That was pretty lucky,” she said to him. “It’s amazing how fast the professor is. I didn’t even realize that rack was about to fall on me until after she pulled me out of the way.”

“Yeah,” Claude said with a laugh, swallowing back his hysteria. “Very lucky indeed.” But it wasn’t luck. Byleth was charging towards Hilda before the rack even began to fall. Because she _knew _that the rack was going to fall, and she knew what the consequences would be if she did not reach her in time.

And now, Claude remembered all of it.

“Claude?” Hilda asked, a slight frown on her face. “Are you okay? You look like you just broke into a cold sweat.”

“I think I might be coming down with something. . .” he explained weakly. Byleth was looking at him now, which only made fear grip him tighter. “Tell Teach for me, will you? I gotta lay down.”

He practically fled to his room, ignoring everyone that he passed, not even trying to give his usual mischievous smile when someone greeted him. When he reached his room, he locked the door behind him and clutched his head, the same memory pounding against his skull over and over again.

_I like you, Claude,_ Byleth’s voice echoed. _and I am sorry to do this to you_. Claude could hardly breath, the pain in his head was so unbearable._ I promise you that I will tell you everything one day, when I have all the answers that I need for myself_. “Answers to what?” Claude asked no one in particular. Someone pounded on his door, calling his name. He neither had the ability nor the desire to answer. _And I promise that I will help you find your killer. _That was right. The rest of that night came back to him, as well. Sneaking out with Hilda and Leonie, drinking with Felix and Sylvain, talking with Ingrid. It was the same night that he was attacked the first time. How could he not remember that he experienced that haunting moment twice? _You can trust me, Claude_. “Can I trust you, Teach?” Claude asked himself. He repeated the question twice, three times, but no answer came. He remained curled on his bed, shivering all over, trying to remember how to breathe again.

Crowds clamored along the edges of Gronder field, cheering with red, gold, and blue banners in their hands. Many were academy alumni, and some were the proud parents of current students, eager to see what the last six months had taught them to do. After all, the Battle of Eagle and Lion was the only mission that allowed spectators. Claude smiled and waved at the onlookers as he rode past, in that carefully-practiced way that projected charm and confidence.

“Are you sure that you’re feeling better, Claude?” Marianne asked from beside him. She drew her horse closer to his, a look of concern on her face. “You still look a little pale. If you want me to, I can—“

“I’m fine, Marianne. Really,” Claude said with all the calmness he could muster. The last thing he wanted was for his classmates to be distracted from the upcoming battle because of him.

_Because of our professor_, he thought angrily.

He kept his eyes forward to avoid speaking with anyone else until he reached the Golden Deer base. The battle was supposed to start in an hour, so all of the students were scrambling for their weapons and helping each other fasten on armor. This was the only time, Claude realized, that he was seeing all of the Golden Deer students together at once. And each and every one of them was staring at Byleth. He forced himself to smile rather than snarl when he realized that they all had the same puppy-eyed expression, pulled into every word as she gave a briefing on the day’s battle strategy. The same expression he probably had on his face when he looked at her up until recently. He absently listened as Byleth continued to give orders. He already knew his position, he was supposed to make a run towards the ballista and take charge of it to keep the Black Eagles at bay while the Golden Deer swept in from the east to disband the Blue Lion students first.

“—Ignatz, you will charge towards the ballista while Raphael, Leonie and I cover you. The rest of the Golden Deer—“

“I’m sorry, what?” Claude protested, pulling everyone’s attention towards him. Byleth looked up at Claude with an unamused expression. “Pardon me if I’m wrong, but I thought I was going to be heading for the ballista.”

“That was the original plan,” Byleth replied carefully, “until I realized that the Black Eagles will have a closer start to it than you. Edelgard will move toward you without hesitation, as extra points are rewarded for taking out House Leaders. Ignatz is less likely to be a main target.”

“We discussed that possibility already,” Claude countered, “and decided together that I could keep the Black Eagles back, because my long-distance aim is better.” Everyone was staring at them now, but Claude hardly cared.

“Yes, but the new starting positions changes things. You just have to trust that—“

“I don’t have to trust anything you say,” Claude snapped. Byleth shot daggers at him. A pin could have dropped on the grass, and it would have made more noise than the students surrounding them.

“Hey, Claude,” Hilda said nervously. “Can you come over here and help me. . . Uh, tighten my shoulder strap?”

“Sure,” Claude said flatly, dismounting from his horse. He followed Hilda around the back side of a bright yellow tent.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Hilda hissed. She jabbed a finger in his face. “What has been going on between you and the professor? I have _never_ seen you argue with her like this, especially with the entire. Golden. Deer. House. Watching. It’s humiliating!”

“It’s not my fault that she’s going behind my back—“

Hilda grunted. “You’re behaving like a child.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples and sighed. “Just do what she tells you. It’s not a big deal. I do it all the time, and you don’t hear me complain—“

“Hilda, you always complain,” Claude corrected her.

“But that’s my role in this merry little gang,” Hilda retorted sarcastically. “I wouldn’t be Hilda mother-fucking Valentine Goneril if I wasn’t a pain-in-the-ass lazy bitch. It’s what I’m known for and I do it very well, thank you. But you. . .” Her expression shifted from anger and annoyance, to concern, then back to annoyance. “You’re different. Something happened. And I know you won’t tell me, because you and I have played this game before. But right now, Claude, you have one of two choices: you either take the next thirty minutes to get your shit together, and resolve whatever is going on between you and the professor, or you suck it down and hold it in until this battle is over. Do you understand me?”

“Fine,” Claude seethed. “I choose the latter option.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. She stomped away muttering something about Claude being more work than he was worth. Claude watched her leave, making sure no one else would come looking for him before he snuck off towards the Black Eagles base.

“I cannot let you in, Claude,” Hubert asserted in a monotone voice. “Knowing you, you’re just going to tamper with our stuff so we would be more likely to lose the upcoming battle.”

“I won’t argue with you on the subject that that is my usual move,” Claude said through gritted teeth. “But can you at least grab Petra for me? I just want to—“

“No,” Hubert said again, this time with a hint of annoyance.

“You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes,” Claude growled.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Hubert sneered in return. The two of them glared at each other, unblinking, until Dorothea came up behind Hubert.

“Let the puppy in, Hubie. I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry,” she said reassuringly, patting Hubert on the cheek. Hubert rolled his eyes, but his shoulders relaxed at her touch. Fluidly, Dorothea laced her arm through Claude’s and led him into the camp.

“I hope you aren’t here for an afternoon romp,” Dorothea whispered.

“I’m not here to—for—_that_,” Claude hissed. “I just want to see Petra.”

“You won’t be able to, I’m afraid,” Dorothea murmured, her voice low. “She took ill this morning, so she turned back around to go to the monastery.” She looked genuinely concerned when she looked up at Claude. “Did she not tell you? She said she was going to look for you to let you know.”

“She said nothing.”

Dorothea frowned. “Maybe she decided she didn’t want to worry you?” she offered, patting Claude’s arm. “She told me. . . You’ve been dealing with something the last couple of days. Something bad. Is there something going on back home?”

“No,” Claude told her. He forced himself to smile at her. “Just stress about the upcoming battle.”

Dorothea smiled and tapped her nose. “Then I better get you out of here before Edie finds and maims you.”

“That would be appreciated,” Claude said with a breathy laugh. Dorothea began leading him back to the edge of the camp. “One question for you, Dorothea?”

“Anything for Petra’s puppy,” she said with a smile.

Claude would have to remember later to find out how to get her to stop calling him that. “If you knew Petra wasn’t here, why did you let me in?”

“Because you clearly weren’t going to take Hubie’s answers as a ‘no,’ and he either didn’t know Petra had left, either, or he wasn’t telling you to antagonize you.” She paused to chuckle to herself. “Plus, I like to ruffle his feathers from time to time.” Claude allowed himself a chuckle in reply. They were back at the edge of the camp, so Dorothea loosened her grip on his arm, and kissed his cheek. “Good luck out there,” she called as she left him. “Pray I don’t see you in again in the next hour, or I’ll be raining magic fire down on you!”

“Not if I see you first!” Claude called. The smile left his face as soon as he turned back around. He stormed back to the Golden Deer camp, searching for the weapon supply.

“You don’t want me using the ballista, Teach?” he muttered to himself. “Then I’ll use your fucking axe.”

Claude wanted to swing at something, anyway.

The Golden Deer lined up in an orderly row, eyes set like they were preparing for a real battle. That was Byleth’s doing. Any time she passed another student, they would stand straighter, grip their weapon tighter. It made Claude want to hurl.

He was still positioned as if he was going to be running towards the ballista, as Byleth had told him that it would throw the other two houses off guard. To Claude, it seemed like a taunt. Like she was reminding him that he was just a pawn in her hands.

He gripped his axe tighter as she passed, as well, though his motivations strongly differed from those of his classmates.

“Prepare for battle!” Byleth shouted, not even glancing in Claude’s direction. Her hands were clenched firmly at her sides. The students wielding lances stomped their weapons into the ground twice in unison. Claude could hear the gesture repeated by students in the other houses, off in the distance where he could not see them. A horn blowed, and the students charged forwards, battle cries rising in the air.

Claude ducked behind an eager-looking boy with a sword raised too high to be practical, readying his bow rather than the axe. He followed the white wisp of hair that could only belong to Lysithea, wanting to be near a familiar face. Hopefully it would do something for his mood. She, like him, would hang near the rear of the onslaught charging the Blue Lions. As their opponents came into view, Claude let a padded arrow fly. The student grunted as the arrow hit him in the chest, a yellow powder marking his shirt. He groaned then laid on the ground, as if dead. Those were the rules of the contest. Even Claude’s axe was wrapped in a cloth covered in yellow powder, to indicate where a blow had landed.

“That’s the Golden Deer for ya!” Claude taunted, running past his fake-slain foe. The boy raised his middle finger up in the air.

“‘That’s the Golden Deer for ya?’ Really, Claude?” Lysithea panted.

“It sounded better in my head,” Claude admitted.

They ran forward, but Claude found himself repeatedly looking towards the ballista. It was currently being manned by a timid-looking, purple-haired girl in a red uniform. She loosed a massive arrow just ahead of where he and Lysithea were running, and he had to grab her arm and yank her out of the way to keep her from being hit by debris after it landed.

“Geeze!” Lysithea hissed, raising her hands in the air in shock.

“Watch your language, young lady,” Claude scolded her instinctively. A Blue Lions student was running toward them from the left, and on the right, two Black Eagles had noticed them approaching.

“Shit!” Lysithea growled. She uttered an incantation that blast at the feet of the two red-clad students running toward them. They stumbled, then with glares lay on the ground as if dead as well. “We’re getting too close to the Black Eagles, Claude. We need to head further east.”

Claude looked to the west as he heard her begin chanting again. Ignatz had barely reached the wooden stand on which the ballista lie, and even then was still struggling to make headway. What the hell was Byleth thinking replacing Claude with him! Claude was taller and faster, and surely would have reached the massive weapon by now, if not completely taken it over.

“Claude!” Lysithea yelled.

Claude was not listening. He slung the bow over his shoulder and grabbed the axe, shifting it from hand to hand as he ran straight for the ballista.

A horn in the distance indicated that one of the house leaders had fallen, meaning there was only Claude and one other left. His heart raced at the idea of hitting Edelgard in the face with a yellow-powdered arrow. He sneered thinking of her shocked expression. Ignatz was barely taking over, but Claude knew he could convince his friend to defer the weapon to him. Especially with Byleth nowhere in sight. Claude wondered angrily if she decided to look for Edelgard herself, to steal the glory of defeating the other house leader. He was nearly at the base of the wooden stand. If he could just hop over the ledge and. . .

Claude grunted as he fell to the ground, gasping from the impact of a padded weapon to his side. Claude clutched his ribs, nearly missing the second blow from Edelgard’s axe. At least it had not hit him square in the chest. A blow to his side meant he was not considered “dead” yet.

“Did no one ever teach you not to walk into a trap?” Edelgard snarled, raising her axe again. She halted as a yellow tinted sword reached her throat.

“Yield,” Byleth commanded. Where the hell had she even come from? Edelgard side-eyed Byleth, a sneer on her face. She dropped her padded axe on the ground.

“I yield,” she said coolly.

A trumpet sounded in the distance.

The Golden Deer had won.

“What the hell was that?” Byleth growled, marching beside Claude past the waves of cheering students. Claude forced a smile and waved at them all until he and Byleth were back in the camp. He stormed into his tent, ignoring the circle of friends that started to congratulate him. Much to his dismay, Byleth ducked in after him without a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t look at her as he removed the red-stained shirt from his torso. “You disobeyed my direct orders,” Byleth reminded him. Claude pretended not to listen.

“I think Edelgard bruised my ribs,” he grunted, pressing his fingers against the darkening patch of skin.

“That’s what you get for not going after the Blue Lions like I told you,” Byleth seethed.

“I disagree,” Claude sighed. “I think it’s what I get for being told one thing only to find out that something else is true.” He reached for a clean shirt in his bag and started to pull it over his head. “Which is ironic,” he continued with a mirthless laugh, “because, now correct me if I’m wrong, Teach, but I distinctly remember you telling me at the beginning of the school year that you chose my house because you thought I was the _least_ likely leader to do that to you.” Claude glanced over at Byleth, who was absolutely fuming. “Doesn’t that sound a little hypocritical to you?”

Byleth scoffed and folded her arms. “That was before you started acting like a self-important child.”

“Oh, so this is _my_ fault now!” Claude pushed past her out of the tent. Byleth followed him.

“You and I both know that you haven’t been yourself the last couple of days,” she continued. “You have been brazen, and rude, and you won’t give me an inkling of an idea about what’s going on! If you would just be honest with me about whatever is going on, instead of blowing me off—”

“I have never been anything but honest with you, so if there are any trust issues here, they lie with _you_.”

The rest of Claude’s class was still standing nearby, though they were now all conveniently busy with nothing in particular.

“Is there something that I’ve done, then?” Byleth asked, having at least the decency to lower her voice a bit.

“If I said yes, would you just rewind time again to try to fix it?” Claude snarled under his breath. Understanding washed over Byleth’s face.

“Come with me,” she whispered, taking his hand and rushing towards the outskirts of their camp before he could protest. Claude resisted the urge to flinch at her touch. He was seething with rage with every step they took. Byleth did not stop moving until they were deep in the woods, where no one could hear them. Claude jerked his hand away from her.

“So I was right,” Claude said with dark laughter. “You hold the power to manipulate time, Teach? Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“You have to let me explain,” Byleth pleaded, raising her hands towards him.

“No!” Claude shouted. “Put your fucking hands down!” Byleth slowly did as she was told, keeping her eyes locked onto Claude’s. Claude still was not certain how literal the whole “turn back the hands” statement needed to be taken, whether the incident with Hilda was merely coincidental or not, but he refused to take any risks. “You had the opportunity to tell me,” Claude began hysterically. “You let me believe that I was going crazy because it was convenient for you to keep me in the dark—“

“Could you blame me?!” Byleth demanded. “Some plucky teenage boy I don’t know very well comes drunkenly bursting into my room, wounded from a fight, and he tells me that he has memories of events that never occurred! What would you have done?”

“But you and I know something that boy didn’t know, don’t we?” Claude growled. “That those events did occur, until a heartless little mercenary messed with the flow of time.”

“Oh, so I’m heartless now? Would you rather that I let Marianne die? Is that something a heartless person would do?!” Byleth demanded.

“Of course not!” Claude shouted. He jabbed a finger at her chest. “All I’m asking for is a little understanding here. I’ve been wandering around in the dark trying to make sense of these memories I have, of events that never occurred. I look Marianne in the eye every day and fight the urge to feel overwhelmed with guilt, even though she is alive and well. I was afraid that I was literally going insane, and you could have helped me.” He realized then that he was hyperventilating and grasped onto his anger to level him, preferring it to the hysteria. “You promised me that you would tell me when you had more answers, and that day never came!”

“I can’t give you answers that I don’t have!” Byleth shouted back. She turned away from him, clenching and unclenching her fists as she took slow breaths to control herself. “What do you remember?” she asked. “Of what I told you?”

Claude huffed, laughing despite his anger. He ran a hand through his hair as he began pacing. He racked his brain for details the memory that had pounded against his head like a hammer just days prior. “You told me that you kept seeing a girl,” he finally said. “And that the ability to turn back time was gifted to you by her.”

Byleth nodded her head, though she did not turn to look at him. “Yes, both of those statements are correct.” Her voice was strained, almost mechanical.

“And you’re seriously trying to tell me that you have learned nothing else over the last several months?” Claude asked mockingly. He thought of the poem in the book that she had given him, the one that led him to realizing her secret. Her ability must have been a gift from the goddess, Claude was certain. Surely Byleth had to know at least that much, as well. Byleth turned back to face him, tears rimming her eyes.

“I’m not as fucking _clever_ as you. I have tried to figure out what this ability, or whatever you want to call it, is and why it was given to me.” She struggled to get the words out, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead. “But I’m no closer to having answers than I was that night. The girl, she has—” Byleth cried out and clutched her head, falling to her knees as if in pain. “Shut up!” she screeched. “Just shut up! Get out of my head!” Claude’s heart pounded in his ear as he took a step back. Byleth remained silent, and Claude watched her from a distance, not sure if he was more overcome with rage or pity for the woman in front of him in that moment. Byleth slowly removed her hands from her head, shaking violently. “I am cursed, Claude,” she finally said, sounding as miserable as she looked. “When you are able to turn back time, your life is no longer yours. . . I was a perfectionist before I had the ability, and now I am. . . addicted. . . to its power. I have repeated events over, and over, and _over_ again, fighting to keep casualties to a minimum, to avoid life-changing injuries, to find the best strategies in a battle, avoid surprise attacks by enemies.”

“Do you use it to make sure each conversation is perfect, too?” Claude asked through gritted teeth, his anger back in full swing. Byleth looked genuinely pained by the question. “To make sure that we all love you, that we all rely on you?!”

“That’s not fair!” Byleth shouted. “I have _never_ used my powers to manipulate my relationship with you! Or with any of my students!”

“Except you _did_,” Claude reminded her. “You knew I was angry with you for not telling me about the bandits! That I was afraid that they were connected to the death threats. So you turned back time, you cut me off from reaching out to anyone else about it so that you could get to me first. I _depended_ on you! But how can I trust you now, Teach?” Claude demanded, venom spewing forth when he used his usual nickname for her. “How can I trust anything that you say to me?”

Byleth’s eyes widened, then shut again in defeat. “You can’t,” she realized.

Claude knew he was being cruel, but he hardly cared. Tears were streaming down his face just as much as they were running down hers. “I can’t,” he agreed.

He turned away from Byleth, walking deeper into the woods. He needed to get away, to clear his head for a while.

The sounds of Byleth’s sobs echoed in his head.

It was hours later, and well past sunset when Claude returned to the camp. His face and chest hurt from crying, and his body was weary. A sprinkling of campfires were lit, but there was no noise in the camp. Claude figured everyone must be in their tents, equally as exhausted from the day’s events. _Well. . . Maybe not equally._ When he reached his tent, a movement caught his eye.

“Don’t say anything,” Byleth pleaded, reaching out her hand to him. When she saw how Claude recoiled at the gesture, she lowered it again. “Give me one minute,” she said carefully. “Then you never have to speak to me again, never have to see me outside of classes and missions. I swear to you.”

Claude’s face was set in a frown, but he nodded.

Byleth approached him, eyes downcast. She handed him the leather bound journal that she always had on her person. “I summarized every instance in which I turned back time on the last few pages, though if you want to read the details, you are free to find them in the earlier entries if you wish.” Claude took the journal from her hesitantly. “I don’t expect you to trust me when you are done with it, but I hope that you will at least. . . Understand the position I was in.”

Her words sounded rehearsed.

“If I ask you a question,” Claude asked shakily, “do you promise to answer me honestly?”

“Anything,” Byleth said, her tone eager.

“How many times have we had this conversation before?”

Byleth laughed in frustration, and a tear fell down her face. “I suppose I should have expected that,” she muttered to herself. She took a deep breath before looking at him. “Just this once,” she said. “I swear to you.”

Claude reflexively wanted to call her a liar, but he had grown familiar with her tells from countless afternoons of teasing one another. She was being honest, as far as he could tell. “Thank you,” Claude said weakly. He raised the journal limply in the air. “I’ll return this. . . When. . .”

“Take your time,” Byleth insisted. She shuffled her feet, then inclined her head and left him alone.

Claude ducked into his tent and lit a lantern. He was exhausted, but he did not want to be tied to Byleth a moment longer than necessary. The sooner he read the damned journal, the sooner he could return it.

Byleth’s handwriting was shaky, as if she wrote the summary for him in haste. There were water stains on the corner of the first page, and Claude told himself angrily that they were _not_ from her tears.

_A bandit was about to drive an axe into my back as I protected Edelgard._

_That would have been the night she saved me_, Claude thought to himself as he continued down the list. He was familiar with the second item as well.

_Marianne was killed by a bandit at Zanado._

It was oddly comforting to see the statement written out in someone else’s hand, to see the confirmation that he hadn’t imagined that terrible moment, that he was not insane. He kept reading. Most of the list contained close calls where Byleth seemed to rewind time as a precautionary measure rather than there being an actual tragedy. Claude’s name was listed in some of those close encounters. He forced himself past the mention of her confessing her power to him then immediately regretting it, not wanting to fill himself with anger all over again. Mixed within the more mellow moments were some horrific ones that made Claude want to cough up his last meal.

_Leonie lost a hand to a bandit with an axe._

_Ignatz was shot in the neck by an arrow._

Some of the incidences listed didn’t include the academy’s students. It seemed that even battalion members and knights of Seiros owed their lives to Byleth. The larger accidents happened increasingly less as Claude went down the list, turning into rare occurrences after the first month or two of her teaching. Claude wondered if it was due more to his classmates’ skills increasing on the battlefield, Byleth’s growing care to watch over them in a fight, or some combination of the two.

_Lord Lonato was killed by Catherine_.

Claude found that one more confusing than understandable, until he remembered who Lord Lonato was. Ashe’s adoptive father, the one who had tried to start a rebellion.

_I got to Lord Lonato before Catherine, but he near-fatally stabbed me_.

He thought of Ashe’s face after Byleth had talked with him, the sadness and shame he seemed to carry.

_I got between Lord Lonato and Catherine, held them at a stalemate. I tried to appeal to his religious sensibilities, which only enraged him more. He attacked, and Catherine killed him to save me_.

Did Byleth really try to stop him from dying this many times?

_I got between Lord Lonato and Catherine, held them at a stalemate. I tried to appeal to his sense of honor. He killed himself._

A memory surfaced. A real one, rather than a phantom. Byleth had told him after the battle in Magdred that she did not think she could have prevented Lonato’s death no matter how many times she tried. It sank into him that she had meant that literally.

_I got between Lord Lonato and Catherine, held them at a stalemate. I asked him to consider his actions, to think of his son. He told me he was thinking of his son, attacked me, and I killed him to save myself. . . I did not turn back time again. I had no energy to try once more_.

He lingered over that sentence, recalling the way he felt when he watched Lonato die. How helpless he was. How helpless she must have been, too. The next few moments listed were tame in comparison, but not enough to lower his heart rate.

_I forgot to lock my door. Lorenz walked in on me while I was naked (it was not life and death, but my dignity was on the line)._

That one actually made Claude laugh, though he immediately felt guilty for doing so.

_Lysithea got mauled by a wolf_.

Claude set the journal down, running a hand through his hair. His heart ached, and his breathing was ragged. He felt like he was going to vomit. _Can I really keep doing this?_ he asked himself. He counted the number of entries remaining. There were only five left. Luckily, the very last one was that Hilda was injured in a training accident. He remembered that one, at least. Claude allowed himself a moment for his gag reflex to simmer down, then took a series of deep breaths. When he was finally ready, he opened the journal again.

_Claude was murdered by Jacobe Donovan._

Claude’s hands shook relentlessly, and his own tears stained the pages. He forced the journal shut and threw it against the fabric of his tent, clutching himself into a fetal position on his cot as he remembered that night. Grief overwhelmed him, along with the realization of how much he had depended on Byleth’s presence without even knowing it. He leaned over the edge of the cot and really did vomit this time, coughing and choking and gasping as he wept. He couldn’t fucking bear it anymore. It didn’t matter what the remaining items on the list were. When his stomach was emptied, Claude spit and wiped his mouth. He wanted water to rinse it out, but he doubted his own ability to stand. He rolled over to the far side of the mat, pulling his woolen blanket over his head.

He did not sleep that night.

Dawn poked in through the flap in Claude’s tent, and he rolled over with a groan. He wanted the day to be done already. He was exhausted, and sleep-deprived, and full of pain. With a half-assed stretch, Claude pulled himself off of his cot and walked to where he had thrown the journal. He picked it up and walked out of the tent.

As he suspected, Byleth was already awake. She was pulling her cot out of her tent and airing it out to roll it when Claude spotted her. Byleth did not notice when he approached. Her eyes were puffy, her nose swollen and red, and her hair disheveled. When he was hardly more than three feet away, she finally looked up at him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Claude asked, trying his best to smile. Byleth’s smile in turn was about as convincing as his was, which was to say, not at all.

“Not a wink,” she whispered. She set down the rolled cot and crossed her arms. “You read all of it?”

“Most. . .” Claude said, feeling a twinge of shame. He handed her the journal. “I couldn’t stomach all of it, though.” _Literally_.

Byleth took the small journal without looking at him, and tucked it under her arm. She looked like her arms around her chest were the only thing holding her together. Claude watched her in a numb silence as she struggled for the words to say. “And?” was all she managed to get out.

Claude looked down at the ground. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You don’t have to worry about me giving you away to anyone. I. . . understand why you did what you did,” Claude replied slowly. “And I am grateful for what you have done to keep us all safe.” He looked up at Byleth, surprised to see that she was watching him now, too. Her eyes were large murky pools, and he found it impossible to look into them while he continued. “But I’m not ready to decide whether or not I can forgive you yet. I think I need time.” His lower lip quivered, and he clamped his mouth shut to stop it, forcing himself to inhale and exhale deeply through his nose until he was more calm. “You hurt me, Byleth,” he whispered to her. “And that’s not something that you can just undo.”

“I know,” Byleth said hoarsely. Claude watched her hands clutch the journal tighter, not wanting to look all the way up at her face. Before she could see him well up with emotion again, he turned back towards his tent. He was eager to get back to the monastery and leave the Battle of Eagle and Lion behind.

Edelgard beat Claude to Petra’s bedside. He tried not to be angry about that fact, but only managed to temper his emotions down to a sharp annoyance. Petra was awake, but barely. She was covered in sweat and her complexion was more pale than usual. “I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Edelgard said to the other girl sweetly. She pat her hand and rose to leave. “Should I offer my congratulations or my condolences to you?” she whispered to Claude on her way out. Apparently word of his argument with Byleth was already getting around. He swallowed down the urge to give a retort, instead rushing to his girlfriend’s side.

“Why did you not tell me you were sick?” Claude asked, kissing her fingers. Petra smiled at him weakly.

“I was not wanting you to be distracted,” she said. “It is only a fever. I will be recovering soon.” Petra frowned suddenly. “You are not looking well. Are you also getting sick?”

“I’m fine,” Claude whispered automatically. When Petra’s frown deepened, he sighed. “No,” he admitted. “I’m not fine.”

“You have not been acting as you usually do lately.” She touched Claude’s cheek, and he leaned into it. “What’s wrong?”

Claude shook his head. “I’m not ready to talk about it,” he said, leaving out the part where he doubted he ever would be. Even if he did tell Petra about Byleth’s powers, and she did not think he was absolutely mad.. . No. He still could not tell her. He had promised Byleth he wouldn’t tell anyone, and that had to include Petra. It wasn’t his secret to tell, no matter how pissed off he was at her. He pictured Byleth’s face from the phantom memory, how genuinely afraid she had appeared when she realized someone else knew about her ability. . . Claude sighed. He was unsure if knowing her secret gave him more or less questions to answer.

Petra analyzed his face, and Claude wondered if she was trying to determine what was wrong for herself. “The professor?” she asked.

Claude nodded reluctantly. There had to be something he could offer her. “Do you remember me telling you that she saved my life, when that guy tried to kill me?”

Petra nodded.

Claude’s lower lip quivered. “She made me a promise, when I was first getting the death threats. To make me trust her more, so I would tell her about the threats. . . I just found out she broke her promise. She was lying to me.”

Petra leaned her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes, squeezing Claude’s hand. “Be saying no more,” she whispered.

Claude squeezed her hand back. He didn’t know if she meant that she understood, and did not require him to say anymore. . . Or that she did not want to hear anymore about it. Given her position, he did not press the matter. He wouldn’t want to hear about anyone’s drama when he was sick, either. “I should let you rest,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head and stood up. “Get better. I’ll check up on you later. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know how I imagined the battle going down, watch the 90s Swan Princess cartoon. I don’t know, I needed something light-hearted if only self-indulgent.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to stay away from Byleth is harder than Claude wanted it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal note here and chapter note at the end:  
I know this is coming late! I was out all day yesterday celebrating my wonderful boyfriend’s birthday, so I had no time to edit. Next week should be business as usual.

“Hey, buddy!” Raphael beamed, approaching Claude as he walked. “You look like you could use a hand.”

“In all honesty, I could,” Claude grunted. Raphael chuckled, taking most of the stack of books that Claude had been carrying. “Thanks, Raph.”

“Are these from the library?” Raphael asked. “I didn’t know you were such a big reader.”

“I have to do something to preoccupy my time,” Claude said with a chuckle.

“Ah, so you stopped reading when you started dating Petra?” Raphael asked. He then laughed at the shock apparent on Claude’s face. “You aren’t very slick, buddy,” he chortled. “I always see you kissin’ her behind bushes and around corners. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not doin’ it right now.”

Claude raised an eyebrow at Raphael, who knowingly raised his eyebrow back.

“By which I mean kissin’.”

“You sly bastard,” Claude laughed. He shifted the books in his hands so they were easier to hold walking up the stairs. Even Raphael seemed to struggle as they ascended the steps.

“Have you seriously read all of these?”

“Most of them,” Claude replied absently. The books he was returning all had something to do with the goddess that the church of Seiros worshipped. He had lost interest in them after the Battle of Eagle and Lion, and the argument with Byleth that occurred afterward. He did not want to look at them anymore. He did not have the stomach for them.

“I envy you,” Raphael said, not missing a beat. “I’ve never been a reader, I don’t have the mind for it. My sister Maya does, though.” Raphael smirked. “I think you’d like her. She’s smart as a tack with a sharp wit to match.”

“I look forward to the day I get to meet her, then,” Claude said with a grin. “You’re pretty close with her, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Raphael laughed, though a twinge of sadness touched his eyes. “Especially after mom and dad died. She’s all I have left. I’d do anything for my sister.”

“I can understand that,” Claude sighed. “That’s a brother’s job, isn’t it?”

Raphael grunted and nodded in reply. They had reached the library, and therefore stopped talking so as to not interrupt the students who were reading at the several tables. “Which shelf?” Raphael whispered. Claude inclined his head for Raphael to follow him. As they walked towards the half-empty shelf on religious studies, Claude noticed that he did not see Tomas anywhere.

_Strange_, Claude thought. _The old man hardly ever leaves the library._

As a matter of fact, Claude had not seen Tomas since the night after they returned from the Battle of Eagle and Lion. On that night, Claude had sought him out with a specific question in mind. “Do you have any books making references to time, or the ability to turn it back and redo something?” Tomas had looked surprised, more so than any other question Claude had asked him.

“You don’t know anyone with the ability, do you?” Tomas had teased.

“Of course not,” Claude then answered quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. Still, Tomas had given him two more books to read. Now, they rested in Claude’s satchel hung over his arm, as he didn’t want them to get mixed in with the library’s books. He would never hear the end of it if Seteth found and confiscated them. And Claude had a particular need for those two.

“You can set the books down on the floor over here, Raph,” Claude said in a low tone. “Thanks again for helping me.”

“What are friends for?” Raphael replied as he set his pile down. He grinned down at Claude and clapped him on the shoulder as he left. Claude bent down and began sorting the books. He tried to put them in the right order, but there were so few left on the shelf after all of his borrowing, that Claude kept putting a book on the wrong shelf, only to move it up or down a row several minutes later as he learned his mistake. When he was at last done, the religious section was almost fully stocked again. The realization made Claude feel equally amused and guilty over how many books he had taken. There were still a handful more in his room that needed to be returned, as well, but Claude did not have the strength to carry them all on his own. Claude chuckled to himself, realizing he probably would not have been able to carry them at all without Raphael’s help.

He patted his pocket and his smile slipped. He still had one more trip to take before he could relax for the afternoon. Claude steeled himself before walking out the door. He hoped Byleth would be easy to find.

A pair of heated voices pulled Claude’s attention as he walked down the hall. It was coming from Jeralt’s door, which did nothing for Claude’s nerves. “—Were barely able to stand a moment ago and you think you don’t need my help? Kid, I have just as much of a right as you do to know what’s going in Remire. It’s practically the only home we’ve—Can I help you, boy?” Byleth turned to face Claude at her father’s words, her face as unreadable as the day Claude had met her. Something about that put a lump in Claude’s throat.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said quickly. The tension in the room was thick, and his presence only seemed to make it worse. “I just wanted a quick word with Professor Byleth.”

Byleth blinked, but otherwise did not react.

Jeralt grunted, keeping his eyes on his daughter. “Go see to your kids, then,” he said flatly. Byleth started to leave when he put his hand on her shoulder. “But we’ll talk later.”

Byleth nodded her head, as simple as if she had not just been arguing with the man, then left the room with Claude beside her. Jeralt made sure to give Claude an accusing glare before slamming the door.

“Sorry about that,” Claude said, as monotone as he could manage.

“What do you need?” Byleth demanded. Claude swallowed down the urge to snap back at her. He looked around before he continued. Seteth was walking towards their direction from the audience chamber.

“Not here,” Claude murmured. He inclined his head for Byleth to follow him as he walked, and Byleth scoffed but followed. It was a weekend, so in theory the classroom should be empty. Regardless, Claude was relieved to see that was the case when he opened the doors. Before Byleth could open her mouth again, he continued. “I want to give this back to you.” He pulled the book of poems out of his wide pocket and handed it to her. The look of pain and confusion in Byleth’s eyes was almost too much to bear.

“Claude, this was a gift. I know things haven’t—“

“Let me finish,” Claude cut her off, his voice a bit too stern. He took a deep breath. “I’ve marked all of the pages that I think might pertain to you. References to the Crest of Flames or to manipulating time.” He removed his satchel and forced it into her hands. “There are some mentions of them in these as well. I didn’t mark the books because they don’t belong to me, they belong to Tomas. But you shouldn’t have an issue with them. They’re simple reads.” Claude looked at Byleth with urgency in his eyes. “I think your ‘friend’ in your head is an emissary from the goddess, and I think her presence is connected to your crest. Do not let the church know that you are looking into all of this or they will step in and snuff you out.” He took a step back from her, crossing his arms. He could hardly bring himself to look at her. Despite the blank expression that Byleth tried to hide behind once more, her eyes gave her away. They looked sunken into her skull as they darted back and forth between, Claude, the book, and the satchel now in her hands. Her shoulders were hunched, and overall she seemed hazy to Claude, somehow. “There,” Claude said to fill the silence. “That’s all I have to say to you.”

“Why are you helping me?” Byleth asked, her tone almost pleading.

“You said you did not have answers. I figured I could give you some.” He shifted his feet uncomfortably. _I don’t like this either,_ he wanted to say, but he stopped himself. No. He wouldn’t spin himself around in circles. He knew he was not ready to rebuild his trust with her again, no matter how he missed her. To relay that with her without any intention of rebuilding trust with her would only be selfish and cruel. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. “I have to go. Goodbye, Professor.”

“Thank you,” Byleth said as he passed, but Claude could not form the words to reply.

He tried to keep his mind on simple things: the rhythm of his footsteps as he walked, the smell of the air, crisp with the coming winter, the rocks that supported the tall structures on either side of him.

Anything to get Byleth out of his mind.

_You’ve done what’s right. You don’t owe her anything more. You’ve done what’s right, you don’t owe her anything more. . ._ He repeated the phrases in his head like a mantra.

Something pushed into Claude’s chest, forcing him against the wall behind some bushes with a grunt. He caught a blur of pink as a hand raised to his mouth to stifle the protest. “Shh!” Hilda hissed. “There’s a quarrel in the courtyard, and you almost ruined it.”

Claude crouched down lower, peering in the direction that Hilda was pointing. He looked forward to the distraction.

“Why do you care so much about my opinion on a stupid book?” Felix hissed, trying to turn away from Ingrid.

“It’s not about the book!” Ingrid retorted. “It’s about the fact that I wish you would just give a shit a little more. Some of us, after all, would actually _like_ to become a knight one day, but with hotheads like you around—“

“You’re never going to be a knight!” Felix snapped. “So why don’t you just quit while you’re ahead and go find yourself a husband—“

The sound of Ingrid’s slap made Claude and Hilda wince. “He deserved that,” Hilda whispered. Ingrid tried to storm away, but Felix caught her arm.

“I didn’t mean that,” Felix said wearily. Ingrid ripped her arm out of his grasp.

“Of course you did,” she growled. Then, her expression softened. “What the hell is with you lately? You were never like this when we were kids, you know.”

“I’m like this because I have to be,” Felix muttered. Claude had to strain to hear them now that they weren’t yelling. Beside him, Hilda leaned forward slightly.

“You have to be a condescending asshole who only cares about training his skills with a sword?” Ingrid asked mockingly.

“No, I—“

“Then what?!”

“I have to keep you safe!” Felix said. Ingrid’s eyes widened. “I’ve lost one person who meant the world to me already. If I lost another—“

_“I was engaged to his brother. He died,” Ingrid said quickly._

Claude resisted the urge to flinch at the phantom memory.

“And what if I lost you?” Ingrid asked. “Do you think I could handle losing someone else I love, either?”

“What are you talking about?” Felix insisted. His back was facing Hilda and Claude, but he sounded truly confused. “I’m nobody special to you. I’m another Dimitri, another Sylvain. I’m just—“

“You’re an idiot, is what you are,” Ingrid said. She grabbed the collar of Felix’s shirt and pulled him down to kiss him swiftly before hurrying away. Claude raised his eyebrows. It was not his place to judge Ingrid for having a crush on her ex-fiancé’s brother, though he did find himself wondering if maybe she just had a type. 

Claude and Hilda dared not move, as Felix stood there for a while, looking out in the direction that Ingrid had left. It was the first time that he was facing them during the encounter, so Claude could actually see his expression. Was he. . . smiling? Claude didn’t realize the guy was capable of such a thing.

When Felix finally left the courtyard, Hilda stood up with a groan. “My baaaaack!” she he complained. “I wasn’t made to stay crouched in a low position for long periods of time.”

“Hils, we were barely here for two minutes,” Claude chuckled.

“Yeah, but that’s like, ages, when you’re in an uncomfortable position.” She winked at Claude. “Where are you off to? Going to see Petra?”

“Eventually,” Claude answered. “She might still be training, though.”

“Then I can steal you for a few minutes?”

“Haven’t you already?”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him towards her room. Her expression grew more serious when she closed the door.

“Is everything alright?” Claude asked. Hilda folded her arms, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her.

“You know Monica?” Hilda asked in a low tone. Claude frowned.

“Oh, the Black Eagle student that we rescued a couple months back?” Claude asked sarcastically. He ran his hand through his hair. “Why do you ask?”

Hilda folded her arms tighter around herself. “Remember when you told me that she made that joke about you sleeping with the professor?” Hilda asked.

Claude grimaced. “Yes,” he growled.

Slowly, Hilda unfolded her arms and showed Claude her right hand. She removed the small bandage tied around it to reveal swollen, bloodied knuckles. “Hilda!” Claude exclaimed. “What—“

“I think you’ll enjoy the look of Monica’s face next time you see her,” Hilda said with a slight chuckle. She tried to wrap the bandage back on her hand, and Claude stepped forward to help her.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Claude scolded her, tying a knot in the cloth. “If she tells Manuela—“

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Hilda assured him with a confident smile. “Monica and I came to an understanding about each other. She won’t talk.”

“Why did you do it?” Claude asked. “That incident between she and I happened weeks ago.”

“Because she said it again,” Hilda whispered, her brows pulled together. “I overheard her in the training grounds talking with some girls about how you and the professor aren’t speaking to each other right now, and she said she thought Professor Byleth was jealous that you had another girl on the side. She said it like it was common knowledge. So, I followed her out of the training grounds, and when there was no one else around. . .” She gestured with her injured hand. “I kindly asked her to stop saying such things.” She glanced up at Claude. “What exactly did you do to piss her off?”

“Nothing,” Claude insisted. “As far as I’m aware.” He looked up and sighed. “I wonder if Edelgard put her up to it.”

“I don’t think so,” Hilda sighed. Claude shrugged in reply. “You said yourself that Edelgard took a step back after that one, strange night. Maybe she realized what she did was weird, and she’s too embarrassed to talk to you about it? But regardless, I can’t see her putting Monica up to something like that. I think Monica’s just a bitch.”

“Who knows?” Claude asked. He smiled down at Hilda. “Thanks for having my back. Leave the fighting to me next time, though. We can’t have people thinking you actually exerted effort, now can we?”

Hilda chuckled. “True. I don’t want my reputation ruined.” Her smile faltered.

“There’s something else?” Claude guessed.

Hilda sighed, long and dramatically. “You know I love you, and you know that I trust you.” She sat on here bed. “But. . . She isn’t the only one who I’ve heard say—You aren’t talking to anyone about what happened. You won’t even give a hint about—” She struggled to get her words out, but Claude already had a guess about what she would ask. “Did you. . . Have. . . Sex with—the professor?”

Claude shook his head, keeping his eyes intently on her face. His hands subconsciously balled into fists. “No,” he said firmly. 

Hilda stared back at him. “But you still won’t tell me what it’s about?”

“It’s between me and her.”

Hilda groaned. “Fine,” she said. “I can’t imagine what in all of Fódlan you could be fighting with her about that’s _so_ important you can’t even tell anyone, but—whatever. It’s you. You keep weirder secrets.” She raised her eyebrows. “Just be prepared. I get a feeling that this rumor is going to get around more.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Claude said numbly. He sat down on the bed beside his friend. “Do you really think this is something that will spread? I mean, really?” Hilda shrugged. That was what Claude was afraid of. He wouldn’t be the only one affected, after all. “Then before it gets around more. . . I need to talk to Petra,” he added.

Hilda nodded. “You need to talk to Petra.”

“This place gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Caspar muttered. They were marching towards Remire village, and the scent of earth hung thick in the air.

“Hmm,” Linhardt muttered in agreement. Beside him, Flayn clutched at her spear.

“These poor people,” she whispered. “To fall ill with madness. . .” She didn’t finish the thought.

Claude clutched his bow tighter. The scene before him was a stark contrast to the last time he had been to Remire. His heart clenched thinking of the night that Byleth saved him, how that felt like a different lifetime now. The people living in the village had brought him in after, giving him soup and tending to his scrapes. It was one of the most comforting moments of his life, actually. Now, bodies were scattered just on the outskirts of the town, looking as if they had been clawed apart by wild animals. But if the rumors were true, they were murdered by the others in the village, who had all been infected by a disease that drove them to a violent madness. Claude forced himself not to look at the lifeless child on the ground as he marched past. He could mourn them later. But there might be other children inside, children who still needed to be saved. And that was why they were there.

Byleth and Jeralt rode by on their horses, huddled close enough to whisper. It was apparent by the look on their faces that neither wanted the other there. If Claude had heard them correctly on the day they were arguing, Remire village was a home base of sorts for them when they were mercenaries, making this mission more personal for the pair. Claude wondered if they would recognize any of the—he shook the thought. Of course they would recognize people. But that wasn’t his problem. Byleth wasn’t his concern. Not anymore.

When the father and daughter were done speaking, Jeralt turned to face the students and his soldiers. “The knights and I will subdue those who are violent, but it is the job of the students to rescue the villagers trying to escape. Leave the dangerous work to us. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Everyone replied, Leonie being the loudest. Jeralt turned back toward Remire and charged ahead with his knights, and the students quickened their pace to keep up. Byleth pulled her horse back in line with her students. She glanced at Claude, and he avoided her gaze. Only when he was certain Byleth had looked away did he look up at her. She did not look well. She hadn’t in weeks. Claude overheard students whispering that she had been seen fainting, as well, but Claude did his best to ignore it. It was none of his business.

“You know I’ve had break ups that weren’t even this ugly?” Sylvain whispered. Claude looked up at the tall red-head, who raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s none of my business. And I know better than to ask you if the rumors circling around are true, but. . .” He genuinely looked concerned. “This isn’t a mock battle,” he whispered. “We all need to have each other’s backs.”

“I know,” Claude assured him, catching the meaning of his words. He forced a mischievous grin. “I’m reckless, but I’m not stupid.”

Sylvain laughed and playfully nudged him. “Atta boy.”

“Do you really think we’ll find Tomas?” Claude heard Lysithea whisper behind him.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Lorenz’s low voice said in reply. That was another rumor circling, though one far less damaging, that Tomas had disappeared to help with the infected villagers. It worried Claude that he had been gone for so long, though. It had been nearly a month since the old man left.

Cries of fear and pain grew increasingly louder the closer Claude and the others got to the village. One or two people fled through the front gate even as the group from Garreg Mach entered. Buildings were on fire. Men, women and children ran in every direction. . . Claude’s eyes narrowed. Far off in the distance, a strangely-clad group of people watched the chaos surrounding them, standing proudly, as if enjoying the fruits of their labor.

“Professor,” Claude said.

“I see them, too,” Byleth murmured. She remained on her horse, looking at her students one by one. After glancing towards her father and his men, presumably checking that they were too far away to hear, Byleth turned back to her students. “We’ll need to get there fast. Leonie, Lorenz, Sylvain, stay on your horses! We need to find out what’s going on over there. The rest of you know your groups. Stay back and save the villagers! Claude,” Byleth said, pulling his gaze towards her. She looked tired, dark bags under her eyes and face pale. “Follow as best as you can, but keep your distance. I’ll need a sharp eye to cover us.”

Claude nodded in response. This wasn’t the time to be anything but a good soldier. Byleth took off running, the three students she had called riding ahead to clear a path. Claude was on their heels, dodging crazed villagers that lunged at him with teeth bared and fingers bloodied. As they neared the mysterious group, a man in the center of their circle barked an order, and mages stepped out of the group to launch spells at them. Claude dodged those, as well. He had sparred with Lysithea enough times to know when a magic blow was coming long enough before it hit. He shot arrows at the mages when he was within range, though by that point, his classmates had reached the ominous group and were landing their own hits. Claude took the opportunity to move closer and look for a better angle to aim from. Something about the man who had given the orders to the mages was drawing him in. He seemed familiar to Claude somehow, but he wasn’t quite close enough to see the man’s face.

Not yet.

It became increasingly difficult to approach as the enemy soldiers formed a barrier protecting the man. Claude could not shoot his bow without risking the injury of one of his classmates or Byleth.

Desperate for an idea, Claude looked at the short building beside him. A wooden beam had fallen into the side of it, creating a ramp of sorts that he could climb up to get a better vantage point. He slung his bow across his shoulders and started his ascent. With his bow ready, he took aim at the man in the center, watching smugly as his men pushed back at Byleth and her horse-mounted students. Claude hesitated, his eyes widened.

It couldn’t be. . .

_Tomas_. . .

A hand gripped Claude’s ankle and tore him off the roof of the low building. His body fell against the edge of the tiles before hitting the ground below. He coughed, clutching his side. His leg was throbbing underneath him from the impact. When he looked up, the Death Knight was standing over him, narrowed eyes behind the skull-like mask glaring down at him. “Your ability to manipulate time has been a thorn in our side,” the Death Knight said, weapon raised. Claude’s eyes widened in fear and confusion. He had dropped his bow when he got pulled down, and he had no other weapon with him. “Therefore you must die.”

Someone shoved Claude out of the way, and he heard the sound of a blade sheathing itself in flesh. Whoever had pushed him cried out in pain.

He knew that cry.

Byleth held her bleeding side as she faced the Death Knight, sword poised in her other hand. She was panting, but still she charged toward the black-clad man. It suddenly did not matter to Claude that he was supposed to be mad at her. He watched in increasing desperation as she slipped on her own blood, stumbling with its loss. She needed his help. Claude forced himself to stand, stumbling towards the dueling pair desperately, but he couldn’t seem to keep up. He feared he would not reach her in time. Suddenly, a flash of light appeared in the direction of Tomas and the enemy soldiers. They were gone, all of them, Claude realized. As if they had never been there. The Death Knight pushed Byleth down like she was a pebble, chuckling beneath his mask. “We’ll play again,” he said. In a flash, he was gone, as well.

Claude limped to his professor, falling to his knees. Byleth was coughing and gasping, hands still on her side. “Hey, Teach,” Claude said, trying to keep his tone light. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Looks like you’ve lost a bit of blood there.” She was losing so much blood. He cupped her face, gently lifting up her head. “Can’t you do something about it? I thought you could reverse time. Why aren’t you doing it now?”

Byleth shook her head, her expression strained. “It was the only way. . . to keep him from killing you first,” she gasped.

_We’ve done this before._ . . “Then turn back time farther,” Claude insisted. He had no memory of dying again. “Don’t bring me ahead with you, I’ll do my best to remember.” Gods, he couldn’t let her die over this! “I’m sure I’ll understand.”

“No!” Byleth insisted. She was gasping harder now, and her eyes were unfocused.

“Marianne!” Claude called, hoping she was within earshot. Byleth grasped at his armor, pulling him back to her.

“He follows you,” she whimpered, her eyes full of fear. She was looking at nothing in particular, eyes darting around like they could not quite focus. “No matter where you are in the village, he follows you.” She coughed, and blood spewed from her lips. “At least closer to me, I could—”

“Stop talking!” Claude begged. He shifted to pick her up, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to worsen her injuries by moving her. “We’re gonna get you some help, Teach. Just hang on.” Byleth needed help fast. “Mari!” Claude called again, this time more desperately. None of his classmates were in sight. Only the bodies of unlucky villagers. “Mari, we need help!”

“I couldn’t let you die on me,” Byleth muttered, hardly coherent. “Not again. . .”

“Mari!” Claude cried.

“Claude?” Marianne’s voice called back. She came running around the corner, her leather armor stained with blood. Someone else’s by the look of things, as she did not appear injured. When she saw Byleth, she hurried over, a healing chant already on her lips. She pressed her palm against Byleth’s side, and the older woman cried out in pain. “We need to get her out of here,” Marianne said, her voice quivering.

“She got hurt saving me,” Claude murmured. “Please tell me she’ll be okay.”

“She will,” Marianne said. Claude wasn’t sure if she meant it. Her eyes were intense. “But we need to get her out of here. Now.”

With the healing spell completed, Claude and Marianne lifted Byleth and carried her towards the edge of the village. Claude’s leg protested from the weight. But he needed to get Byleth to safety. They saw Jeralt by the front gate. His face filled with rage and fear as he ran towards them. “What happened?” Jeralt asked, taking his daughter from Claude’s hands.

“She was stabbed in the side. I don’t think any vital organs were hit, but—“ Marianne continued to explain the situation to Jeralt as they rushed away. Claude struggled to keep up at first, but with his injured leg stood no chance. He stopped suddenly, panting. His leg was in a lot of pain.

“Claude, are you okay?” Leonie asked. She approached with Flayn and Caspar in just behind her.

“My leg hurts,” he said weakly.

“I can help with that,” Flayn murmured, stepping forward. She pressed her hands against his leg, a low light emanating from her palms. Claude gasped at the near-immediate effect it had. “Better?” Flayn asked with a slight smile.

“Better,” Claude said. “Thank you.” He flexed his leg to check that there were no more aches, and took off running the second he confirmed his own healing.

“You still have to take it easy!” Flayn protested at the same time that Leonie called, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?!”

“Teach needs me,” Claude muttered, though he doubted any of them could hear him.

Claude traced the tiny scars criss-crossing Byleth’s hand as he held it. She was sleeping peacefully, but her skin was still pale due to the loss of blood. He never realized before how many scars she had all over her body. But laying on the cot in the medical tent, with her torso only covered by the bandage wrapped around it, Claude could see several, larger versions of the puckered pink lines across her arms and stomach, as well. He imagined her back looked much the same.

“Gods, Teach,” Claude muttered, clutching her hand tighter. It was his fault that she had gotten injured. Had the Death Knight not mistakenly been after him, and had Byleth not been so desperate to make amends. . .

Byleth was a self-sacrificer. Every scar on her body reminded Claude of that. How often had he seen Byleth leap in front of danger to save someone else? How many other times had she done the same when no one was watching? How many times had she rewound time so she would not have to make such sacrifices?

Claude knew exactly how many times. He had seen them written out before him. He had even remembered some of them for himself. But who was there to rewind time when _she_ was the one in danger? Who would protect her when she was being selfless for others? Once, Claude would have thought that was his job. But now? “How could I let this happen?” he still found himself saying.

Byleth stirred at his words, her eyes fluttering open. “Where am I?” she asked weakly. Her free hand went to her side and she tensed up, grimacing in pain.

“Medical tent,” Claude answered. He rubbed circles soothingly on the back of her hand with his thumb.

“My dad?”

“I convinced him to get some sleep. He only left a few minutes ago, but I imagine it won’t be long before he finds another excuse to come back in here.” He forced a weak smile, and Byleth’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “What the hell were you thinking out there?” Claude whispered.

“I thought I told you,” Byleth replied. She tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into a cough. She squeezed Claude’s hand to steady herself. “I couldn’t let you die.”

“Yeah, so you risked your own neck instead,” Claude said, barely masking the fear and frustration in his tone. He was still rubbing his thumb in circles. “I’m sure I’m not the only one upset by that. What does your ‘friend’ think of your little stunt out there?”

“She thinks I’m a fool,” Byleth admitted. “She and I. . .” Her voice hitched in a pained sob. “Sorry,” Byleth gasped. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ve never actually spoke about her in the present before. I don’t think she likes it.”

“It’s okay,” Claude whispered.

Byleth took a handful of deep breaths. “She’ll get over it,” she finally said. “It’s my life after all. She can fucking deal with it.” She took another breath to steady herself. “We. . . haven’t been doing well lately. The whole school has been telling me I look ill these last few weeks, so I’m sure you know that already. We aren’t. . . We’re having a hard time staying awake, that’s the best way I can explain it. She considers me saving you a lapse in judgment due to the fatigue.”

“Is it because of the rumors?” Claude wondered. “That you haven’t been doing well?” He ignored the other part of her statement. No sense asking why the voice in her head would consider saving him a lapse in judgment when he knew the answer.

Byleth looked up at him blankly, her eyes burning a hole in his head. Claude was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still holding her hand and slowly pulled away. Gods, what if one of the other students had walked in and seen? It was hard enough dealing with everyone’s stares and whispers without any shred of ‘proof’that Claude and Byleth had slept together. Claude could only imagine how much worse it would get if there was any sign of affection between them, and he was suddenly very self conscious of the fact that they were alone in the tent.

“Maybe,” Byleth admitted, bringing Claude out of his own thoughts and back into reality. “I’ve surprisingly been able to avoid them, for the most part. Though I would be lying if I said I’m not a little worried that Seteth or Rhea might confront me about them. In all truth, I think those will go away. There’s no grounds for the rumors outside of boredom. But these headaches. . .” She winced. “I think are more due to an overall strain on us.” She clutched her head again, a groan escaping her lips. “Stop,” she growled. Claude assumed it was aimed at the girl in her head.

“If your head hurts, I can make you an herbal tea,” Claude said flatly. “Marianne left some leaves here.” He started to stand when Byleth took ahold of his hand again.

“Why are you even here?” she whispered. “Even if I saved your life, you were the one who said you were done with me.” Her eyes were welling up with tears. “You were my only friend, and—Fuck, Claude, why are you doing this to me?”

Claude held her hand for a moment while he carefully considered his answer, but he did not allow himself to speak until he pulled it back again. “You know, if I had lost you today without ever making up with you. . .” Claude ran his hand through his hair. “I never would have forgiven myself.”

Byleth said nothing, watching him intently as if waiting for him to continue. So, he did.

“I’ve been trying all this last month to work out the fact that I logically understand why you did what you did,but I still feel. . . hurt. And I don’t feel unjustified in my reason, because when all is said and done, I still don’t know for certain that you didn’t tamper with my life in other ways. I have no way of knowing. I didn’t even remember that I died again today until you leapt to my aid. And for that reason, how do I even know that’s true?” He choked back a sob. “I want to trust you again so fucking bad, but I don’t know how to.”

Byleth seemed to ponder his words, her breath still shaky from her own sobs. “This puts us in a bit of a predicament, then,” she said tightly. For some reason, it made Claude laugh.

“I suppose it does.”

Byleth seemed lost in thought again. “I thought you hated me,” she murmured, “and that you were perfectly content never speaking to me again.”

“Of course I’m not okay with it,” Claude whispered. “Do you think I’m angry because I didn’t care about you? I’m angry because I did care about you. I _do_ care about you.” He covered his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions stirring in his chest. “How do we make this better, Teach?”

Claude could hear Byleth give a long, low sigh before she replied. “I know starting over, blank slate, is asking too much of both of us,” she said, “but we can’t rebuild our fr—any sort of relationship we had if we do not at least provide a foundation.” Claude looked at her from between his fingertips. “Promise each other to at least try to act like civilized people. And. . . I can’t take back the fact that I hid my cursed ability from you once. The same way you can’t take back what you said to me at Gronder Field.” Claude winced. “This situation is unbearably unique, and I don’t think there is a fast and easy way to fix this. I think you and I just have to live with that.” Her eyes looked pleading, and she hurriedly looked away from Claude’s gaze. “But even if it’s slow, even if it’s painful. . . Do you think you can work with that?”

Claude lowered his hands. “I think I can manage that.” Byleth looked back at him from the corner of her eyes, and the relief Claude saw there released a tension in his chest that he had not even realized was there. Byleth tried to smile, then she groaned in pain again, this time touching her side. “Let me make you that tea,” Claude said, turning away from her once again.

He walked towards the medical table where the herbs were laid out from earlier that day. “You’re limping?” Byleth asked.

“Just a little. It was worse earlier.”

“You should lay down,” Byleth said. Claude looked back and her and noticed how unbearably blank her face was, almost as if all the progress she had made to express herself more had completely gone down the drain. “Go back to your tent and get some sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” Claude insisted. He checked the pot Marianne had brought in before retiring for the night to make sure the water inside was still hot.

“Claude—“

“I’ll leave when your dad comes back. Does that sound like a good enough compromise to you?”

“Fine,” Byleth sighed. “But you should have some of that tea, too. Heal your own wounds.”

Claude resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I suppose I can allow that,” he replied. 

Claude dreamed that night that he had fallen asleep beside Byleth’s cot, lethargic as a side effect of the herbs in his tea. An armored figure walked into the tent, wearing the mask that Jacobe Donovan had worn the night he first attacked Claude. “You,” Byleth gasped. She struggled to reach for her sword.

“Be at ease,” a metallic voice said from the armored figure. “I am not here for your life or the boy’s. I just want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Byleth hissed.

“Then that should make you a great listener,” the figure retorted. “I have a proposition for you. A war is coming, and you have aligned yourself with the losing side.” The figure extended their hand. “But you don’t have to stay there. Leave your teaching job and your little fawns behind, and I can give you the answers you have been seeking. About the Sword of the Creator, and your mysterious crest as well.”

“Never,” Byleth seethed.

“Would you really pick this runt over power and answers for yourself?” They demanded.

“A hundred times over,” Byleth said without hesitation.

The armored figure chuckled. “Pity,” they said flatly. They left the tent without another word.

“Hey, kid,” a gruff voice said. Claude felt someone shake his shoulder.

“Hmmm, what?” Claude said through a yawn. He opened his eyes to see Jeralt standing over him.

“Go get some sleep. I’ll watch my daughter for the rest of the night,” Jeralt said.

“Okay,” Claude murmured, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He slowly stood up and limped to his tent, where he immediately collapsed on his cot, thinking of the strange dream he had. . .

Claude was riding at the back of his class group the next morning when Byleth approached him. “How are you feeling?” Claude asked her.

“As well as expected,” Byleth sighed, her voice weary. She looked ahead to ensure none of the other students or knights were within earshot of them. When she was satisfied, she looked back at Claude with an expressionless face. “But I needed to talk to you. I won’t necessarily expect that you and I will be friends after last night, but I think you will agree with me when I say that we still have some. . . things we can only discuss with each other. I’m asking you to call a truce on those grounds, if you’re willing.”

Trying to match Byleth’s demeanor, Claude nodded solemnly, though a part of him feared what she would say next. “I can agree to that,” he said cautiously.

Byleth’s hands tightened on her reins.

“Someone came to visit me when you were asleep in the medical tent,” Byleth started.

An image of a mask in the dark flashed in Claude’s mind, and he realized his dream had not been a dream at all. “I know, I saw them. It was whoever stole Jacobe Donovan’s mask out of his room.”

Byleth looked genuinely shocked, then she knitted her eyebrows together. “Jacobe Donovan. . .” she muttered.

“Yeah,” Claude said, equally as confused as she was. “Who else would I be talking about?”

“The Flame Emperor,” Byleth replied. “That was who came into the tent last night.”

Claude’s eyes widened. “No. No,” he said, his chest tightening as the pitch of his voice raised. “No, I saw the mask. I know that mask, Teach. It wasn’t—it couldn’t be. . .” He shook his head. “Are you telling me they are the same mask?” he asked with as much control as he could manage.

“I don’t think so,” Byleth said quickly. “I saw the masked figure in your room that night. I mean, it was only for a few seconds, but—I don’t think—it couldn’t—“ she groaned in frustration. “It couldn’t be the same mask.” Her body swayed, and she barely caught herself before falling out of her saddle.

“Teach, if you’re not feeling well, you should take it easy,” Claude insisted. He reached over and grabbed the reigns of her horse, slowing his own down until both had completely stopped.

“What are you doing?” Byleth asked.

“Checking your wounds,” Claude replied. He hopped off his horse. “Come on, Teach. Off you get. I may not have any healing skills, but I should have a vulnerary or two in my satchel.”

“This is unnecessary,” Byleth muttered. Still, she stumbled the moment her feet were on the ground. Claude rushed to her side to catch her.

“Is this a bad time to remind you to never be so reckless while trying to save my life again?” Claude asked. Byleth shot him a look.

“Terrible,” she replied.

Claude snickered, despite himself. “Shirt. Up,” he said.

Byleth lifted her tunic as Claude rummaged through his satchel for the vulnerary he had leftover and a fresh set of bandages. He helped Byleth unwrap the blood-stained bandage from her torso, grimacing at the sight of her wound. “It’s getting inflamed,” he muttered.

“It’ll be fine,” Byleth said.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’ve been fainting and feeling weak lately? This can’t be allowed to get any worse.”

Byleth groaned as he poked the reddened flesh.

“Told you.”

She made an exasperated noise. “Okay, fine. It hurts.”

“Thank you,” Claude said. “That’s all I wanted.” He untied the wrapping around the vulnerary. “So you really think the person who came into the tent last night was the Flame Emperor?” he asked as he bent over and applied the salve. Byleth winced at his touch.

“Do you really think it was the same mask that Jacobe Donovan wore?”

“I will never forget that mask,” Claude muttered. “They told you last night that a war was coming, right?”

“Yeah,” Byleth said through gritted teeth. She was growing more tense as Claude continued to place the vulnerary on her wound. He figure the pain was much worse than she wanted to let on.

“Do we think the two are connected?”

Byleth sighed as she considered the question. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But the Flame Emperor and anyone affiliated with them has always seemed to aim their attacks at the church, not you.” She looked down at Claude. “And you have no connections to the church.”

Her last sentence sounded more like a question than a statement. “None,” he confirmed. The pair remained silent as Claude started wrapping the fresh bandages around Byleth’s waist. Claude absently thought of the last thing Jacobe Donovan had said to him, something that had seemed so irrelevant after the man was gone, but now struck Claude as such a blatantly obvious threat.

_They know where you’re from._

“Why was the Death Knight after you yesterday?” Byleth wondered. “Do you think that might be connected, also?”

When Claude hesitated, she took the bandages from his grasp and fastening the ends herself, though her fingers were shaking. “We need to catch up with the others quickly,” she muttered.

“He seems to think I have your gift.”

Then Byleth’s fingers froze. “Why?”

Claude ran a hand through his hair. He still had hesitations about opening up to her again, but when he really thought about it, what the Death Knight told him pertained more to Byleth than him. Claude could not be a hypocrite, and keep things from her as she had done to him. “You know the old man in the center of those freaks who started the mess in Remire yesterday? That was Tomas, right?”

“It appeared so,” Byleth admitted. Her fingers started working again to finish tying off the bandage. “Though I heard him call himself Solon, not Tomas.”

Claude sighed, his heart sinking with her answer, wishing that she would have denied the resemblance. “Tomas joked with me the last time I saw him, saying that I was asking too much about the ability to manipulate time, and I got nervous because. . .” He gestured vaguely at Byleth. “I wonder if someone working against us is like me, and remembers when you turn back time. If that’s the case, and Tomas—or Solon, whatever—knew about it, he may have thought I was the one with the power, and sent the Death Knight to kill me.”

Byleth cursed under her breath. “And I’ve seen the Death Knight work with the Flame Emperor, as well.”

Claude looked at her intently. “It wouldn’t surprise me if it was all connected.” Byleth seemed to be analyzing his face as she processed what he said. When she had no reply,Claude sighed. He turned away from her and placed his supplies back in his satchel. “You were right earlier. We should catch up with the others,” he said. “We can figure out what this means another time.” When he looked back at Byleth, she was struggling to get back on her horse. “You shouldn’t ride on your own. If you pass out again, you’ll fall off your horse and break your neck.”

Byleth sighed. “I can’t very well _walk_ back to Garreg Mach.”

“I know,” Claude said. He took the reigns of her horse and tied then to his own. “I’m saying share my horse.”

“That will get uncomfortable quickly.”

Claude tried not to roll his eyes. “This isn’t about comfort, it’s about your safety. Come on, Teach. At the very least, I can hand you over to your dad once we catch up to the rest of our group.”

Byleth hesitated before walking over to Claude’s horse and allowing him to lift her into the saddle. “I better not hear you complain, then.”

“Never,” Claude said. A small part of him wanted to tease her, but he resisted. “Let’s catch up to the others.”

Petra was waiting for the group by the stables. She watched Claude with worry when he dismounted and limped towards her. “You are hurting?”

“It’s not that bad,” Claude insisted. He pulled her in for a long, passionate kiss, dipping her for the sake of hearing her laugh.

“Can you at least wait until everyone else leaves?” Lorenz muttered as he walked passed. Petra giggled against Claudes lips.

“No,” she said, then she kissed her boyfriend again. When she straightened and pulled away, she asked, “What happened, then?”

“I got pulled off a roof and landed wrong on my side,” Claude answered.

“That is not sounding like it is not that bad,” Petra argued. “Why were you not having a healer look at you?”

“That might be my fault,” Byleth said as she walked over. Jeralt had his arm wrapped around her waist to support her. She was still clutching her side.

“Teach tried to play the hero and it didn’t go as planned,” Claude said flatly. Petra looks back and forth between Claude and Byleth.

“You saved Claude’s life?” she guessed.

Byleth smiled slightly. “All in a day’s work for a professor,” she said.

“Then you are having my gratitude,” Petra said with a smile, though hers was by far more forced. She put her hand on Claude’s chest. “This one gets into enough trouble as it is.”

Byleth started to laugh, then stopped abruptly, grasping her side tighter. Her father nudged her gently.

“Come on,” he said. “We have to go see Manuela, and I’m sure Lady Rhea will want a report right after.”

Byleth nodded, allowing Jeralt to guide her away.

“How did you know that I was the one she saved?” Claude wondered.

“You called her ‘Teach’,” Petra answered matter-of-factly. “You have not been calling her that in weeks.” She looked up at Claude and gave him a strained smile. “I am not being as simple-minded as people say I am.”

“I know that,” Claude said, kissing the top of her head. A wave of guilt washed over him. Petra did not like discussing the rumors circling the school about him and Byleth, but Claude knew they affected her. She was trying to be strong, and Claude would have preferred it if she would just talk to him.

Petra tugged at his hand, encouraging him to walk with her. “I was worrying about you while you were gone,” she said, “and it looks like my instincts were having accuracy. The Golden Deer are always going on the most dangerous missions.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Pet,” Claude said with a grin, hoping to ease her worry. “I don’t think anything bad could happen to me if I tried.”

“I am thinking you might be right,” Petra laughed. She gave him a knowing smile and lowered her voice. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” He grinned at her. “Anything in mind?”

“I am having an idea.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

“I would rather be showing you.”

Claude crept out of Petra’s room, hoping that none of the guards were passing by. None were in sight. The night sky was lit by a full moon, whose light reflected off the fishing pond nearby. A lone figure was sitting by the edge of the water. Claude immediately knew who it was. Only Byleth would be out by the water this late. He stood by the door, pondering whether he should approach her or not. They still needed to discuss what to do about the Flame Emperor, and everything that implied.

But was it worth it to be caught and flare up even more of the rumors that plagued Claude’s life?

He decided not.

Claude limped off to bed without a word.

A few days later, Byleth asked Claude to stay late after class. Hilda shot him a concerned look before he nodded. “Sorry to do this,” Byleth said quietly, glancing at the door as Hilda left. “I just need a minute.”

“What’s wrong? Does it have to do with the Flame Emperor” Claude asked, arms crossed.

Byleth was fidgeting, her eyes darting everywhere. She moved her lips, but nothing came out her first few attempts. “I was talking with Rhea earlier this morning, and. . . This is going to sound so stupid—What is the name of the goddess that the Church of Seiros worships?” she asked.

Claude raised his eyebrows. There was never a shortage of reminders that Byleth grew up away from the church, as much as that could be managed. The goddess’s name was not spoken often, as using it in vain was considered treason. But every history book in the expansive library had it written at least a handful of times throughout its pages. “Sothis,” Claude answered quickly, not quite catching Byleth’s point.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Byleth uttered. The wheels in Claude’s head started turning, spurned by her odd and unexpected answer.

“Teach?” he asked.

Byleth took a deep breath. “You said that you suspected my. . . friend. . . is an emissary of the goddess, right?”

“I remember,” Claude said, in a voice that prodded her to keep going. He leaned down to hear her better.

“You now know the name of my friend,” Byleth said quickly. “I’m sure you’ll draw the same conclusion that I did.” Her hands clenched into fists. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my next lesson. You are dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the pacing of this chapter is off. . . But after writing and re-writing it three or four times, I had to stop. It is what it is, and I’ll have more time to edit next chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude learns that dancing is much more fun when not intermingled with diplomacy.

Hilda squealed so loud that Claude heard her from halfway across the academy field. She was jumping up and down with her arms around Marianne’s neck. Claude walked over, his nose tucked under the knitted yellow scarf around his neck.

“Hilda. . . Hilda. . .” Marianne was pleading quietly. “Please stop screaming.”

“What’s this all about?” Claude asked. He pulled the scarf down to give them his usual smile. Based on the glee on Hilda’s face, Claude wondered if Marianne had finally become public with her relationship.

“Professor Byleth asked me to participate in the Heron’s Cup,” Marianne began, Hilda still squealing in her ear. “I did not intend to say yes, but something in me just—“

“Oh, Mari!” Hilda laughed. “Someone is finally bringing out your inner talents!”

“I don’t know what you keep going on about. There are far more graceful and beautiful—”

“Oh, please, stop that. You’re drop-dead gorgeous, and your constant practice with magic has done wonders for your grace and elegance.” Hilda stopped jumping to clutch Marianne’s hands in hers. “Mari, let me do your hair the day of the competition! Oh, please please please!”

“Just say yes to her, Mari,” Claude laughed. “Otherwise she’ll never let up.”

Hilda looked over to stick her tongue out at him, and Marianne sighed. “I suppose if I have to compete anyway—“

Hilda managed to squeal even louder than before as she hugged her friend again. Marianne looked down, but she had a slight smile on her face. “Is there something you needed, Claude?” she asked once Hilda had quieted down.

“Hils and I have guard duty tonight over at the abandoned chapel.” He paused to look at Hilda. “I figured you would complain if you had to saddle your own horse, so I went ahead and readied two of them. Are you packed for the night?”

Hilda pouted, giving him the biggest eyes she could manage. “You really know how to sour a girl’s mood, you know that? How do you keep Petra happy again? You know what, don’t answer that. My bag is packed, I just left it in my room. I’ll meet you at the stables.” Hilda turned to Marianne. “And I’ll see _you_ in class tomorrow! I hope you don’t have plans afterward!” She skipped off before Marianne could protest, leaving the blue-haired girl chuckling to herself.

“She’s a handful,” Claude said with a grin.

“I agree,” Marianne said fondly, “but a good friend.” She looked Claude up and down. “Are you dressed warmly enough for tonight? The seasons are changing quickly, and I know you are not fond of the cold.”

“I have an extra coat in my bag, as well as some blankets,” he told her. Based on her expression, Marianne seemed to think that was a satisfying enough answer. “When is the competition? You know our class will want to cheer you on.”

“I’d honestly rather you didn’t,” Marianne sighed. “What if I mess up, or the other dancers are just so much better than I am? I couldn’t stand to be teased. . .”

“Mari,” Claude said soothingly. “If anyone, Golden Deer or otherwise makes fun of you, I’ll have them stuck in the bathrooms for a week.”

Marianne smiled slightly. “Is that a threat or a promise?” she teased.

Claude kissed her cheek. “Both,” he whispered. “Wish us luck. We’ll be back in the morning. Give the prince my regards if you see him.” Marianne flushed a deep shade of red, which only made Claude laugh. He winked at her, tapping the bridge of his nose, then left to meet with Hilda.

“All I’m saying, is it’s unnecessary,” Hilda complained, her knuckles white as she pulled her blanket tighter around her body. “We’ve been watching this stupid abandoned chapel for a week now, and nobody has gone in or out!”

“It’s what Rhea ordered, and I don’t really blame her for being on edge after finding out Tomas was an evil sorcerer,” Claude answered, though he himself was resisting the urge to shiver. He inched closer to their small fire. A group of battalion members chatted lightly in the distance, but Claude was sure they could not hear him and Hilda’s conversation. “At least it’s a hell of a lot more relaxing than marching out somewhere at the end of the month to subdue bandits, or rebels, or manic sick people like we usually do.”

“Humph,” was Hilda’s only reply. She leaned on Claude’s shoulder, and he could feel her teeth chatter. “Tell me something,” she said. “Since we’re out here all alone, and there’s nowhere for you to run, there’s a question that I’ve been dying to ask you. . .”

“I’m not giving you any details about my sex life,” Claude laughed.

“If I wanted that information, I would just ask Petra,” Hilda chuckled. She shuddered much too dramatically for it to be from the cold. “I wanted to ask how everything is going with the professor.”

Claude shifted in place. Rumors had been dying down, as Claude and Byleth were extremely careful to watch their behavior around each other. But whispers still lingered, and it made life difficult. They hadn’t been able to have a word alone since Byleth told him the voice in her head was potentially a goddess. Nothing could be discussed about the Death Night, or Tomas, or Byleth’s gift, either. It kept things strained. “I don’t know,” Claude confessed to his friend. “It’s not like we can really mend our relationship when every time we look at each other, another wave of ‘oh, is he leaving Petra for her? Will they get in another fight? I wonder why the professor hasn’t lost her job yet,’ flares up again.” Claude huffed, his breath a cloud of white mist in the cold. “It’s fucking annoying.”

“I’m well aware,” Hilda sighed. She glanced up at him. “And it’s not going to get easier with the year-end ball coming up. I mean, traditionally the house leaders dance with the professors and other staff. If you don’t dance with the professor. . .”

Claude nodded. “It’ll just look bad,” he finished for her. “But if I do dance with her, it won’t make things any better, either.”

“You might be able to soften it by dancing with Manuela and Rhea, as well.”

“I had that thought, too. Does Rhea usually dance at these things?”

Hilda nodded. “I asked Holst, and he said he danced with her when he was house leader.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, then,” Claude said. “This feels less like a dance and more like politics.”

“Get used to it, buddy,” Hilda laughed. “You’re going to do this a hell of a lot more after graduation.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Claude threw a twig into the fire. “Sometimes I feel like I should have just stayed home instead of moving here.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Hilda groaned. “It’ll take a while before this situation gets fully reconciled, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Besides, my life at the academy would have been _super_ boring if you didn’t enroll.”

“Hils, did you just use the word ‘reconciled’ correctly in a sentence?” Claude teased, earning him a strong punch in the arm. “Ow,” he laughed.

“My brother used it in his last letter to me, so you know, it was fresh on the mind,” Hilda explained, nuzzling her face into Claude’s scarf.

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Was he talking about the two of you? Are you fighting with Holst?”

“No,” Hilda whispered. “We were talking about me and someone else.”

Claude grinned widely. “Now look who’s being secretive and cryptic.”

“Look, if you get to have secrets, then so can I. This friendship is a two-way street. And don’t change the subject on me!”

Claude sighed. “Okay, so pros and cons. What’s the advantage and disadvantage of dancing with our dear professor at the ball?”

“It’s probably more important to focus on the cons,” Hilda said. “The obvious one is the rumors might get this worse. But at this point, I honestly think people are getting bored of it. A decent amount of the attention already moved away from the two of you when it was discovered that Tomas—Solon, whatever—was a spy working with the Death Knight. And you’ve been doing a good job at being neutral with the professor in the meantime. I know it’s a fine line to walk, but I stand by the argument that _not_ dancing with her will have a bigger negative impact, because it makes a bigger statement. By dancing with her _and_ the other staff, you are adding much less fuel to the fire, you’re just being a diligent student.” She shivered, and Claude opened his blanket so she could huddle in for warmth.

“Any other cons?” Claude asked.

Hilda hummed thoughtfully. “Petra still isn’t talking to you about how she feels about the rumors, I’m guessing?”

Claude shook his head.

“Then if you dance with the professor, It might make her more upset.”

“So, I don’t dance with Teach at all, is what I’m hearing.”

“Not necessarily,” Hilda said, annoyance creeping into her tone. “Just talk to Petra about it ahead of time. Get her to finally open up to you.”

“You think I haven’t tried that already?” Claude asked. When Hilda said nothing, he scoffed. “She won’t say a damned word to me. She’s being frustratingly stubborn about this whole thing.”

“That’s like the pot calling the kettle back,” Hilda muttered.

“I can and will throw you out of this blanket,” Claude said.

“Fine,” Hilda asserted, her tone daring him to do it. “But you need Petra to talk to you about this, even if you have to force it out of her. It’s hurting your relationship with her, and it’s clearly hurting her, personally. I like Petra, Claude. I don’t want her to keep being in pain.”

Claude rested his chin on the top of Hilda’s head. “I don’t, either.”

“Then promise me you’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Claude smirked, even though she couldn’t see him. He drew out a long, misty breath. “Okay, I promise.”

“There’s a good boy,” Hilda whispered. “And if you let her seduce you out of an adult conversation again, I’m ripping off your testicles.”

Claude unfolded his arms and kicked outward from Hilda’s side. She fell out of the blanket onto fresh snow just as a gust of wind blew.

“Claude!” Hilda screeched.

Claude threw his head back in laughter.

“Pet?” Claude called, knocking on his girlfriend’s door. He walked in without waiting for a reply. Petra was sitting at her desk, staring angrily down at the papers sprawled in front of her. “Math homework?” Claude guessed, familiar with how much the subject frustrated her. He closed the door and stepped up next to her, kissing her on the cheek. “Anything I can help you with?”

“I am not stupid!” Petra snapped, slamming her hand down on the desk. Claude jumped back. “I can be figuring this out on my own!” She burst into tears, and Claude thought that trying to get her to talk might actually be easier than anticipated. He reached over, gently pulling the quill out of her ink-stained hand and kneeling down to look Petra in the eyes. Petra avoided looking at him.

“Pet, you gotta talk to me,” Claude said miserably. “Is this about the rumors?” When Petra didn’t reply, he sighed. “You can’t keep avoiding having this conversation with me.”

“I know,” Petra muttered. She stubbornly wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, still not looking at him. “But what is being the point of talking about it?” Claude pulled her out of her chair and onto her bed, where he could more comfortably wrap his arms around her.

“It might make you feel better,” Claude whispered. “Less isolated.”

Petra huffed. “Everything in Fódlan is making me feel isolated. I hate this fucking country.” Claude tensed. Petra wasn’t usually the kind to curse. He kissed the top of her head but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. “Just because I am not speaking the language correctly does not mean I am a fool. The rest of the people here are not even speaking two languages, so what makes them think they are knowing more than I am?” she growled. “But they do. They speak about me as if I am not hearing them, as if I can’t understand them. The next person who calls me stupid is going to end up with an arrow in their throat. I am _tired_ of people speaking about you and Byleth! I want to leave the officer’s academy.”

Claude tilted her chin up towards him, and she finally looked him in the eye. “Then why don’t you?” he asked. “Not that I want you to leave, of course, but. . . Pet, these stupid things that people are saying, they’ll follow me wherever I go. But I can handle that. The rumors are already dwindling compared to what they were last month. If it would be better for you to visit home for a week or two until things settle down. . . Why not go away for a while? Hell, I’ll even go with you.”

Petra laughed humorlessly and rolled her eyes. “I cannot be leaving the academy,” she said flatly.

“Sure you can,” Claude insisted, a worried frown on his face. “Students visit home all the time. Why would you be an exception?”

Petra didn’t answer. Not immediately, at least. “Do you remember me telling you that I was invited here as a sign of peace between Brigid and the Empire?”

“I remember,” Claude said hesitantly. This is not how he anticipated their conversation would go. Petra looked up at him with fear in her eyes. “Pet, you’re scaring me.”

Petra shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I. . . I lied, Claude,” she whispered, and Claude felt like his heart had stopped beating. Every word out of Petra’s mouth after sounded strained. “I was never invited. I was forced, by Edelgard’s father.” Her voice was shaking violently. “My father was murdered in the rebellion, and it was not being enough to satisfy the Empire. I was taken away, forced to pretend I was coming here in free—coming here _freely_.” She muttered something under her breath in her native tongue. “I am being a prisoner in an invisible cage.” Claude’s lip curled into a snarl. He tried to stand, but Petra caught his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a talk with Edelgard,” Claude growled. “I can’t believe that she would fucking do this to—“

“No!” Petra pleaded, her eyes wide as she pulled Claude closer. “Edelgard has never been treating me like a prisoner, she has always treated me like a treasured friend. I was never lying to you about that.”

“But she knows that you’re here as a hostage,” Claude said harshly, and Petra stiffened against him.

“She knows,” she confirmed. “She never talks about it, but. . . I know that she does.”

“Has she ever threatened you?” Claude asked, and now his voice was shaking too. Fuck, to think that he had been _so_ wrapped up in his own stupid drama, while she was literally a prisoner standing beside him. He blinked, and his eyes watered. “Or anyone for that matter? Gods, Pet, I—“

“I am safe,” Petra said, and she did her best to smile. “And Edelgard has never been threatening me. I would be knowing if she ever were. She is not having much subtlety. . . But no. Except for I cannot be leaving, I am as safe here as I would be at home. Probably even safer, because if anything bad was happening to me—“ She stiffened, her voice trailing off.

Claude kissed her, lacing his fingers in her hair to pull her tighter. Petra melted into him, keeping her arms wrapped around his shoulders even after he pulled away. “Why did you never tell me any of this?” Claude asked. Petra shook her head.

“You have already been dealing with a lot.”

“So you think this wouldn’t be important to me?” Claude demanded. His tone sounded a little more harsh than he intended. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I just. . . Gods, Pet, if I had known—“

“It would be doing no good,” Petra finished. “It would keep you hating Edelgard, and I am trying _so_ hard to have peace between you and her.” She sighed. “I am trying to keep peace.”

Claude rested his head against her shoulder. His hand sought out hers, and she took it urgently. “Then let me help you,” he whispered.

“How?” Petra asked, and Claude hesitated. “There is no helping me, Claude. I am doing all I can, keeping my head downward, keeping Edelgard happy.” Her fingers clenched reflexively. “So I can go home one day.” Claude opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to soothe her worries, solve her pain. But what could he say? What could he do, short of strangling Edelgard in her sleep? He decided that he would have to think of something he could do for her.

“At least promise me you’ll try not to do this alone anymore,” he said. He tightened his grip on her hand. “Let me share your burden with you. You don’t have to hide anything from me, Pet.” He tilted his head to look at her and smiled. “I am actually useful, you know. I’m more than just a pretty face.”

Petra chuckled back. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Okay,” she said, “I promise.”

”I love you.”

”I know.”

Despite how cold it was outside, the bodies pressed together to watch the Heron Cup indoors kept Claude nice and warm. He was grinning ear to ear, as was every other student in his class. They all showed up to support Marianne. She looked nervous, but that was not unusual. Byleth was standing beside her to give last-minute instructions before the competition started. Claude wondered if there was anything he could do to encourage his classmate. Were it anyone else, he would start hooting and hollering to give them a boost. But that was not Marianne’s style. He looked around, when he spotted an opportunity. Grinning even wider, Claude pushed past the other students to get to his target.

“I didn’t expect this to be your scene,” Claude said. Dimitri looked down at him with a curious expression.

“Yes, well. . .” Dimitri stammered. “I’m here to support my house. . . And a friend.”

_I’m sure you are_, Claude thought smugly. “Mind if I stand by you to watch?”

Dimitri gave Claude a genuine smile. “Of course,” he said, making room for the other house leader. Claude stood by Dimitri, and waited for Byleth to finish her talk with Marianne.

“It looks like my professor needs a place to stand before the competition starts.”

“Perhaps I could make room,” Dimitri suggested.

“What a wonderful idea,” Claude beamed, as if that wasn’t part of his plan the whole time.

Dimitri smiled, turning back towards the stage. “Professor Byleth,” he called. “Come stand by me, if you have nowhere else.” Byleth smiled and nodded, walking over calmly. As Claude suspected, Dimitri’s voice calling out drew Marianne’s attention, as well. She instinctively looked in his direction, then her shoulders relaxed, and she held her head higher, the slightest smile on her face. For all intents and purposes, she looked as if there were only one person in the audience. It was exactly what she needed.

“What are you smiling at?” Byleth whispered as she took the place next to Claude. The audience grew quiet as the music for the competition began, meaning Claude would no longer be able to slip away without making a disruption.

Claude inclined his head towards Marianne, and Byleth turned to look.

“Ah,” she whispered. “I see you’re using your gifts for good.”

“You wound me, Teach. I always use my powers for good.”

Byleth hummed in reply. The pair watched Marianne silently for a while, careful to maintain a few inches of physical distance between them. “Are you excited for the ball?” Byleth whispered several minutes later.

“Very,” Claude replied in a low tone. He raised an eyebrow at Byleth. “What about you? I know you don’t have a date, but—“

“Who says I don’t have a date?” Byleth asked, a sly grin on her face.

Claude looked away from her. “Anyone I know?”

“You’re familiar with him,” Byleth said carefully.

Claude nodded, then shifted his focus back to Marianne. She really was only watching Dimitri. Claude snuck a glimpse up at the tall blond beside him. Dimitri’s eyes were wide with awe, his lips parted slightly as he smiled up at her. Claude chuckled. He was afraid for a while that Marianne’s feelings were far stronger than the prince’s, their relationship was so secretive it was hard to tell. For once, Claude was happy to be wrong.

The music slowed to a halt and the dancers stopped in coordinated poses. As the audience began to cheer, Claude could hear the Golden Deer chanting Marianne’s name on the other side of the room. Claude very loudly joined along. Even Dimitri called out her name instead of the Blue Lion contestant, before seeming to remember himself. After some deliberation, Alois rose from the judge’s table and signaled for the audience to settle down.

“It was a close call this year,” he began. Byleth sucked in a sharp breath. “But we were all ultimately unanimous in our vote. The winner of the 1180 White Heron Cup is Miss Marianne von Edmund of the Gold—“

The rest of his voice was drowned out by the whoops and hollers of the Golden Deer class, who unceremoniously began chanting Marianne’s name again. Marianne’s face turned red and she brushed a strand of loose hair out of her face. Alois looked annoyed at first, but eventually laughed before presenting Marianne with the trophy on stage. Her classmates cheered ever louder.

“Ow!”

“Can you please just hold still?” Hilda groaned. “Really, you wouldn’t think short hair could be so tangled, but apparently the secret to your perfectly-tousled hair is that _you never brush it._”

“I brush it,” Claude pouted, trying not to wince as Hilda’s brush snagged on another knot. “Hils, I think you’re taking this too seriously. It’s just a dance.”

Hilda drew out a long, dramatic gasp. “It is not _just_ a dance! I haven’t been able to dress this nice all year, so do not sour my mood by speaking such nonsense.” She sighed longingly. “I’ve been so busy helping Petra and the girls get ready that I haven’t even gotten to my own hair. . .”

“What’s wrong with the way you normally wear it?” Claude wondered, earning him an annoyed look from Hilda. Claude chuckled at her expression. “Just hurry up here and you can use my mirror if you need to.”

“That’s okay. All of my stuff is in my dorm anyway. And I’m almost done.” She gave the brush one last yank. “You can re-braid your hair. I’ll go grab Petra, I want to see the look on your face when you see her!”

Claude looked in the mirror as he braided the longer strand of hair absently. Hilda had used some sort of cream to keep his hair slicked back in place as she brushed it, and Claude decided that he hated it. Once his braid was secured, he gave the rest of his hair a slight shake so it did not cling to his scalp. It brought back just enough of his usual look for him to be satisfied with it.

“No!” Hilda groaned as she came back into the room. She was wearing a floor-length lilac dress with a plunging neckline that Claude sincerely doubted was school appropriate. “You messed up your hair!”

“I am thinking it looks perfect,” Petra said as she stepped into the room. Claude tried and failed to keep his mouth from hanging open. She was in a glittering ruby-colored gown with a slit Along both legs that gently hugged her hips. Her hair had one small braid on each side, about the same width as Claude’s, that were pulled up in a smooth bun. A decorative comb pressed into the front of it kept it all in place. Claude also realized that, for the first time he could remember, she was wearing makeup.

“See?” Hilda giggled. “I told you he would like it.”

“I agree,” Petra teased. “I am not usually making him so speechless.” She walked over and kissed Claude’s cheek. “You are looking good tonight.”

“Speak for yourself, Pet,” Claude laughed. He tilted his head for a kiss when Hilda yanked Petra away.

“No!” she asserted. “Do not mess up my masterpiece. I am going to go do my hair, but if I come back here and find her makeup smudged or her hair even a strand out of place, I’ll skin you alive, von Riegan.” With that, she stormed out of the room. Claude waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps before stealing a kiss anyway.

“_You_ look perfect,” he whispered with a grin on his lips. Petra giggled at him. “Is this why you both went into town a few days ago?”

“Mm-hmm,” Petra hummed. “A huge group of us went together, but Hilda was deciding. . .no, decided, that she was going to pick out my dress ahead of time. She has a good eye.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did she dress you, as well?”

“I actually did this myself,” Claude said taking a step back with his arms raised. He was wearing the shirt Hilda had made him buy for his birthday, paired with a golden velvet jacket and black formal pants. The jacket had belonged to his uncle during his days at the academy, so Claude asked his grandfather to send it to him for alterations several days prior. He had also asked him to send his uncle’s gold bangle decorated with stags along with it, but the duke claimed he could not find it. “What do you think?” Claude asked as he spun in a circle.

“It is. . . Dramatic,” Petra said with a slight laugh. “But I am liking it.”

“Good,” Claude said. He wrapped Petra in his arms and kissed her forehead. “Should we head out now, or do you want to go with the others?”

“Let’s be going with the others,” Petra beamed, clasping Claude’s hands in hers. She led him out of his room and towards Hilda’s, where all of Claude’s female classmates could be heard giggling. Claude and Petra peered in, and Claude’s eyes widened to see Dorothea putting pins in Hilda’s hair.

“I thought you would be with Edelgard,” Claude said, hoping his tone was friendly enough. Dorothea shot him an annoyed look, though he knew the annoyance wasn’t aimed at him.

When she pulled a pin out of her mouth, she said, “Edie went on ahead with Hubie and Monica.” She sounded as if the last name left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. “I saw all of the Deer here and figured Petra would be close by. It seems I was right.”

“Dorothea, you must teach me how to do my hair like this again!” Hilda beamed. She touched one of the loose tendrils that hung by the side of her face. “It looks so elegant and effortless. I love it.” Dorothea smiled, putting the last few pins in the low side-bun.

“It’s really easy,” Dorothea promised. “I’ll show you how if you teach me some of your skill, too.”

She looked up at the other girls and smiled, and for the first time Claude looked at the rest of them, as well. Hilda’s touch could be seen on each of them, but each girl’s own flare was present, as well. Marianne wore a silver gown with birds embroidered on the sleeves and the hem. Her hair was braided and hung over one shoulder, with a sparrow—shaped ornament pinned at the base of it. Leonie’s gown was forest green, and she wore a matching headband in her short red hair. Lysithea’s dress was knee-length and pink, but her makeup and hair had been done in a more mature manner to counter-balance the youthful length. “My, my, Hilda,” Claude chuckled. “Do I want to know how much you spent on everyone?”

“Not much, actually,” Hilda replied. “I owned all of the dresses already, they just needed to be fitted. Sithee’s was hardest because she’s so short.”

“Hey—“ Lysithea began to protest.

“And I made most of the accessories myself with trinkets I found in town,” Hilda finished, pretending she did not hear Lysithea.

“Well, everyone here looks stunning, so it was a job well done,” Claude told her. “Are the guys meeting us?”

“They’re supposed to be here any minute now,” Leonie said. “Though it wouldn’t surprise me if Lorenz was late. He seems like a long groomer.”

Lysithea and Dorothea snickered.

“Hello?” Ignatz’s voice called from the other side of the doorway. He stepped inside, and behind him, Raphael’s large frame took up the entryway. “My,” Ignatz breathed. “Everyone looks so elegant. I feel a little ragged in comparison. . .” He and Raphael were both in simple black suits, with Raphael in a shirt that actually fit him for once. Claude thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with what they were wearing.

“Don’t,” Hilda insisted. “I had to wrangle these people into their gowns, and it was a _real_ chore.”

“You’re done!” Dorothea beamed, taking a step back to admire her work. Hilda patted the updo gratefully then turned to face the two boys. Ignatz flushed at the sight of her, which seemed to please Hilda.

“You both look very handsome,” she beamed. “All we need now is—“

“Was someone about to say my name?” Lorenz called. He pushed past Raphael into the room, then upon seeing how crowded it was, stepped back into the hallway. He was wearing Gloucester colors, with his usual rose tucked in his lapel. Hilda stammered, then seemed to compose herself.

“Just that it was annoying waiting for you,” she muttered. She straightened her gown and looked in the mirror one more time. “Are we all ready to go?”

“Almost!” Claude interrupted, before anyone could move. All eyes were suddenly on him. “I was going to make this announcement when our entire class was together, including Teach and the transfers, but since I have you all here, I might as well tell the bulk of you before we separate—and of course, this proposition will go out to our gorgeous Black Eagles as well.” He looked down and winked at Petra.

“I am feeling intrigue,” Petra giggled.

“Same here,” Lysithea said. She leaned forward slightly. “What is this mysterious proposition?”

Claude grinned and squeezed his girlfriend’s hand. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, “this night is to celebrate the nine-hundred-and-ninety-fifth anniversary—“ Lorenz rolled his eyes as he dragged out each syllable—“of this monastery being built. Meaning the one-thousandth celebration will be five years from now, yes?”

“Yes, Claude. We can all do basic math,” Lorenz said condescendingly.

“Your tone has been noted, and you will pay for it later,” Claude replied with a wink. He turned back to the rest of the group without missing a beat. “We should all make a solemn vow to meet back here on that night.” He gave them his winning grin. “We can catch up, and swap stories. We’ll treat it like a little class reunion.”

“That would be wonderful!” Leonie beamed. “We can show each other how successful we’ve become!”

“Or how much we’ve grown,” Lysithea pitched in, standing a little straighter.

“I could even draw a portrait of everyone,” Ignatz offered. He smiled shyly. “Maybe I’ll do one at the end of this year and do another one in five years. We can compare what we all look like then to now.”

“So that settles it!” Claude exclaimed. “Class reunion, in the year 1185 at this very monastery! Everyone in?”

A resounding “Yes!” echoed from everyone, even Dorothea.

“Excellent! And on that note, we celebrate!”

“All right! Let’s feast!” Raphael bellowed. He led the way to the reception hall eagerly, while everyone else filed out of Hilda’s room to follow.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see the rest of the professor’s look!” Hilda sighed dreamily as she walked beside Claude. He lazily wrapped his arm around Petra.

“You mean you’ve seen her already today?” he asked casually.

“She was getting ready with us earlier today,” Petra answered from the other side of him. “But she left early to be finding her date.” She didn’t tense up or shift uncomfortably, and Claude found himself relieved. He knewPetra didn’t like the idea of him dancing with his professor that night, but the day before, she had given her approval to do so regardless. Still, Claude had decided that if at any moment she started acting like it bothered her, he was going to avoid Byleth altogether. He didn’t want to risk his relationship turning south just when Petra started opening up to him.

Claude pressed a kiss against Petra’s cheek. “Does that mean you know who the mystery man is?”

“Oh, yes,” Dorothea sang, a sly grin on her face. “Frankly, I’m a little jealous that she snatched him first. I still think I may ask him to dance.” None of the girls elaborated further, so Claude didn’t press them for a name. Petra squeezed his hand knowingly, and gave him an assuring smile when he looked back at her. He squeezed her hand back.

The reception hall was crowded with students filing in for the night’s big event. Servers offered them glasses of sparkling cider when they walked in. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes, with large grins upon their faces as they greeted their friends. Claude dropped his arm from Petra’s shoulders as they stepped inside together. “I need to find the rest of my house to talk with them about the reunion,” he whispered in her ear. “Would you like to join me, or shall I find you later when the dancing begins?”

“You can be finding me later, when the first dance starts,” Petra replied. “Dorothea and I should be spending some time with Edelgard.”

Claude forced a smile at the other girl’s name, but he nodded regardless. He kissed Petra’s full lips, then gave Dorothea a peck on the cheek and sent them on their way to find their princess. When he looked around, the rest of his class had already separated and flocked towards their respective friends. The only two that he saw together were Hilda and Lorenz, though they seemed to be having an argument over something. _Guess I’m on my own_, Claude thought. He stepped deeper into the hall.

Linhardt and Caspar were the easiest to find, as Caspar’s loud voice carried well, and Linhardt was never far from his side. When they had both agreed to the reunion, Claude sought out Flayn. She eagerly agreed, though Seteth dampened the mood by reminding her that, as a resident of the monastery, she would already be there for the ball, anyway, hardly making it an effort for her. Ignoring the sour comment, Flayn beamed up at Claude as her brother walked away. “How do I look? Pretty enough to dance with?” she asked. Her green-laced dress swayed with her as she flared out the skirt.

“Pretty enough to dance with twice,” Claude teased. Flayn pressed her hand to her mouth and giggled.

“I would accuse you of flirting with me if I didn’t know you had a romantic relationship with Petra,” she said. “But I would be grateful to share a dance with you. You are my house leader, after all.” Claude knelt down and kissed her hand.

“Then you and I shall meet on the dance floor,” he said. He straightened up and looked around the room.

“Are you looking for Petra now?” Flayn guessed.

“I’m actually looking for Teach and Sylvain,” Claude replied absently just as he saw a tall red-head in the distance. “I haven’t seen Teach come in yet, though.” Maybe it was for the better if he didn’t look for her at all. He should just go to Petra after speaking with Sylvain.

“Me neither.” Flayn smiled warmly up at him. “But I will let you know when I do.”

Claude inclined his head in thanks before pursuing Sylvain’s tall frame. He was talking with Ingrid and Felix, whose backs were facing Claude. Claude wondered if Sylvain was even aware that the pair’s fingers were interlaced as they spoke with him. “Mind if I interrupt?” Claude asked. Ingrid quickly dropped Felix’s hand and stepped away from him.

“Ah, if it isn’t Claude,” she said flatly. “Come to steal Sylvain away again?”

“Only for a moment,” Claude insisted.

“If it’s about the reunion, Hilda already told me,” Sylvain said. He gave Claude a confident grin. “You bet your ass I’ll be there.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, then,” Claude said with a grin. “Any of the Blue Lions are welcome to join as well, if you would like to fill your friends in on the mischief. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my girlfriend.”

He quickly left the trio as Ingrid started pestering Sylvain with a slew of questions. Claude walked around a group of girls who blushed and giggled at him, wishing he were a few inches taller so her could see over their heads. _Where the hell is Petra?_

He glanced towards the doors when he spotted a couple entering together, and did a double-take as he realized the woman was Byleth. Her dress was simple, black, and elegant, with a wide collar that went straight across her shoulders. Her hair had been done to look like a flower pinned against her head, and around her neck was a green pendant necklace.

“Doesn’t she look stunning?” Hilda asked. Claude jumped, not realizing that she had snuck up next to him. “Though it might do well if your jaw wasn’t hanging open like that.”

“I’m just shocked that she didn’t show up in pants and a tunic,” Claude tried to explain. Hilda rolled her eyes.

“We should go say hi,” she said. When Claude tried to argue, Hilda forcefully looped her arm through his. “Nope. Buck up. You said you were going to dance with her tonight, and if you can’t even manage saying hi to her, you won’t be brave enough to dance with her, either. Let’s go.” She tugged on him sharply until he stepped in line with her. Had she always been so strong?

It was only when they were a few steps away that Claude looked up at the guy whose arm Byleth was holding. He was young—probably in his mid-twenties—with sandy hair, a sprinkling of freckles, and a kind yet handsome face. Claude couldn’t help noticing that many of the students blushed and waved at him as he passed by. But Byleth had said Claude would know her date, and Claude had never seen his face before. The man smiled down at Claude when he approached the pair. Maybe his smile was a little familiar. . .

“Wow, Professor,” Hilda said to Byleth with a grin. “You look positively radiant.”

“As do you,” Byleth said with a slight grin. “You look lovely in purple, though as your professor, I feel obliged to say that neckline is a little. . . Mature.”

“Well, you know me. I am nothing if not extravagant.”

Byleth chuckled, then looked up at her date. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Hilda, Claude, I believe you know Alastair Clemens?”

While Hilda immediately nodded, Claude was about to disagree until the man smiled at him again. There really was something about that smile. Then, in an all-too familiar voice, Alastair said. “Greetings, Claude!”

And gave him a wink.

Something about Claude’s expression must not have surprised Alastair, as he bent over in laughter. Even Byleth suppressed a chuckle. “I know,” Alastair said, “Nobody ever recognizes me without the helmet on, but everyone seems to know my voice at the first word.”

“I should say so,” Claude replied, recomposing himself. Hilda snickered beside him. “After all, you greet us at the gate every time we come and go through the monastery.” Claude wondered how the hell he had gone so long without ever knowing the gatekeeper’s name.

“I suppose that’s true!” Alastair laughed. “That’s how By and I became friends, after all.”

_‘By’?_

“So, are you two a thing now, or are you just here as friends?” Hilda asked. Claude kicked her shin, and she didn’t even wince.

Byleth’s eyes flared, but she kept her expression neutral. “Just as friends,” she said shortly. “I was too embarrassed to show up alone, so I asked Alastair to be my date the moment I heard about the ball. I knew if I waited that another woman was going to snatch him up.”

Alastair blushed. “Please, By. Don’t tease me like that!”

The pair shared a familiar laugh with each other that made Claude’s heart race and his face feel warm. Now it was Hilda who kicked _him_ in the shin.

The music swelled, and students began chattering excitedly and leading partners to the dance floor. Alastair smiled down at Byleth. “May I have this dance?” he asked. Byleth nodded and let him lead her to the open space in the middle of the room. Claude watched them for a moment, talking and laughing with each other, and only a little uncomfortable with the fact that the gatekeeper’s hand was resting on Byleth’s bare back.

“Have you seen Petra?” Claude asked. Hilda raised her eyebrows.

“Am I not a good enough dance partner?” she teased.

“No, you’re the best,” Claude laughed. “But I promised her the first dance.”

“I guess I’ll allow that,” Hilda sighed, giving him a sly grin. “I haven’t seen her, but she should be around. Save a dance for me later, okay?” Then, she sauntered away, approaching another student bravely and offering her hand to him. Claude laughed to himself as the boy eagerly took it, his eyes lingering downward far more than theY should. _Poor guy_. Then, he remembered: he was looking for Petra. He resumed his search.

At last, he found her, laughing with Dorothea, Monica and Edelgard in a corner of the room. Claude counted his blessings that Hubert at least was not in sight. “Ah, have you come to take her away?” Dorothea asked at the end of her chuckles. Claude smiled at her, ignoring the looks he was getting from Edelgard and Monica.

“Just for a song or two. I have to come back after a while to get my dance with you, don’t I?” he asked with a wink.

Dorothea smiled and waved him on. As Claude took Petra’s hand, Monica gave him a devilish smirk. “Save a dance for Edel and I, too. Won’t you, dear?”

Claude pretended he didn’t hear her.

“I swear I can’t stand that girl, Pet,” Claude uttered to Petra. He pulled her in close as they began to dance in time with the music. “Dorothea had grown on me, and I even understand your situation with Edelgard. But Monica—“

“She is a friend of Edelgard’s,” Petra hissed. “I cannot just be ignoring her.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“Claude—“

“I know, I know,” Claude sighed impatiently. “I remember our talk from the other day.” He leaned in closer, his lips against her ear. “And I promise I’m not trying to cause trouble—“

“You, not causing trouble?”

“You know what I mean,” Claude said with a slight chuckle. “I’m just trying to help.” Petra said nothing, but she held onto him tighter.

“Let’s not be worrying about this tonight,” she whispered. “Let’s just be pretending that I am not a prisoner, and you are not a magnet for chaos.”

“Hey now,” Claude said in a joke warning tone.”

“We are just a princess and. . .” Petra hummed thoughtfully, then pulled back to look at Claude with mischievous eyes. “And a prince. From faraway lands. Just dancing and having fun.” She lifted herself on her toes between steps to kiss Claude lightly. “No drama, no rumors. I’m just wanting a good night. Can you be doing that for me?”

“For you?” Claude asked, dipping Petra low then bringing her back up into his arms. “I would do anything.”

“Even meeting me at the Goddess Tower at midnight?”

Claude chuckled. “I thought you said making a wish on the night of the ball was a silly old tradition. Do you really want to do that?”

“I do,” Petra laughed. She had this particular smile on her face whenever she managed to stump Claude or do something he did not expect, something between delight and amusement that she only wore with him, and Claude loved it. It had been a while since he’d seen that smile. “It might be fun. We could be wishing for anything. Then we will be finding out if it comes true.” She lowered her voice, raising her eyebrows slightly. “And be knowing if the goddess of Fódlan is real.”

Claude did not doubt for a second that Sothis existed. Not with everything he had experienced. But he had to admit, he was curious to see how well the mystical minx listened to her people. “Then we shall have to wish for something extravagant,” he teased. Petra laughed with delight.

Claude danced with her for one more song, before figuring it would not be appropriate to keep her for the whole night. When he led her back to ask Dorothea for a dance, he was relieved to see that Monica had gone. “She suddenly fell very ill,” Dorothea whispered in a mocking tone as she danced with Claude. “Poor thing. Based on the way she fled, she’ll probably be gone for the rest of the night.” She and Claude shared a laugh. His friendship with her had grown over the last several weeks due to their mutual dislike of the red-head.

“Will you ask Edelgard to dance with you, then? With Monica out of the way for the night?” Claude asked her.

“Only if you ask her first.”

Claude groaned in reply. “Well, as one of the three house leaders, one could say it is my obligation. I wonder how I’ll get Dimitri to dance with me, though.”

Dorothea laughed. “Oh, surely he would say yes if you asked. I think the two of you would make a lovely couple,” she teased.

Claude happened to catch a glimpse of Dimitri in that moment. He had Marianne in his arms, the winner of the Heron Cup. Dancing together with smiles on their faces, they looked every bit as regal as two monarch butterflies flying around the room.

“You might be right,” Claude laughed. The music slowed and stopped. “But let me take one royal at a time, okay?” When he led Dorothea back to her friends, his eyes were fixated on the white-haired princess.

“Your majesty,” he said to her, hand extended and smile flashing. “Would you do me the honor of sharing the next dance with me?”

Edelgard swallowed hard. She looked very much like she did not want to say yes, but she also could hardly refuse under the circumstances. She looked to Petra, who only nodded encouragingly and therefore sealed her fate. “What harm could one dance do?” Edelgard muttered, taking Claude’s extended hand. Claude wordlessly led her to the dance floor, holding her at a respectable distance as they danced in small, slow circles. “My, my. You do know how to dance after all.”

“I’ve taken some lessons since the last time. I’m also not drunk, which helps,” Claude whispered, recalling how she had made note of his dancing skills—or rather, lack thereof—on his birthday. Gods, how that felt like a lifetime ago. “How are you enjoying the ball?”

“It’s fine,” Edelgard sighed. “Hubert refused to come last-minute, so I’m afraid that no one else besides you will ask me to dance tonight.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Claude chuckled. “I think Dorothea might, and a few other Black Eagles will surely want the honor. I even heard a Golden Deer student say he was trying to work up the courage—“

Edelgard chuckled, cutting him off.

“Did I say something funny?” Claude asked her, a forced grin on his face.

“Are you seriously trying to cheer me up right now?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?”

“Well, we’re hardly friends, now are we, Claude?”

Claude sighed, but he kept the smile on his face in case anyone was watching. He pulled Edelgard closer so she could hear him better. “Look,” he whispered. “I know that you and I don’t exactly see eye to eye on a lot of things. I certainly have some critiques on your behavior and the way you’re handling the political situation with Brigid, and I’m sure you have some critiques of your own about me.”

“Please, keep going. You’re doing a wonderful job selling your argument,” Edelgard said sarcastically.

“But why can’t we be friends?” Claude continued, pretending like he did not hear her. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I truly think we could benefit from being more civil with one another. . . And not just for Pet’s sake,” he added. “Can we just drop whatever bullshit rivalry thing that’s been going on lately and just enjoy each other’s company? Instead of trying to constantly gain the upper hand on one another? It would certainly take a lot less effort than whatever we’re doing now.”

Edelgard pulled back slightly and studied him, her purple eyes lighting up in amusement. “Would you really want to be my friend?” she asked. Claude could not gauge the expression on her face.

_If you change the way you treat Petra and stop keeping her as a hostage_, he wanted to say, but instead he settled for, “I certainly don’t want to be your enemy.”

Edelgard’s smile widened, though Claude still didn’t quite understand why. Wasn’t she the one always antagonizing him, after all? “Dare I say, I think you did just cheer me up,” she said. She leaned in and kissed Claude’s cheek. “Fine. I don’t think I’m quite ready to call you my friend yet, but I will say I don’t mind the idea of getting there one day. Even I tire of our squabbling from time to time.”

“Now, was that so hard to admit?” Claude asked.

Edelgard made a face and shrugged. “It was a bit like acid in my mouth, actually.”

Claude shook his head and laughed.

A finger tapped Claude’s shoulder, and the pair stopped dancing. “Princess Edelgard,” Hilda began, a soft smile on her face. She bowed low. “Would you permit me to steal Claude for the rest of the dance?”

“Please, take him,” Edelgard said pleasantly. She bowed to Claude, then she left to join her friends.

Hilda quickly took Claude’s hands and swept him back into the waltz that was playing. “I was afraid you needed saving,” she said. Her smile had not left, but her tone was serious.

“It’s fine, I offered her a truce,” Claude replied, keeping a smile on his face as well.

“And?”

“Only time will tell.”

He danced the next song with Hilda, as she complained about not getting her full time in otherwise. After that, he figured he would get some of the formalities out of the way by dancing with Manuela, followed by Rhea. It was amazing how much younger the archbishop looked when she was not covered in ceremonial headdresses and robes. Claude tried not to think about that too much. When that was done, he found the Golden Deer girls one by one, coaxing each of them to dance with him at least once. Marianne was the most difficult to claim a song with: everyone wanted to dance with the Heron Cup winner. When he finally got his dance with her, he asked her how she was enjoying the attention.

“It’s making me nervous, to be honest,” Marianne whispered with a laugh. “I’m relieved to be in the arms of someone I know for once tonight. I know you won’t fault me if I step on your toes or trip over my skirts.”

“I’ve made no such promises,” Claude teased.

Marianne flushed, then smiled as she realized he was joking.

When their dance was over, Claude realized he had not seen Petra in nearly an hour. He wanted another dance with her. But when he saw her, Dorothea was twirling her in circles as they laughed together. Claude smiled. He would not pull her away from that, he decided, so he scanned the room for his next dance partner.

Byleth stood about twenty feet away, her fingers wrapped around the glass stem of an empty champagne glass. Alastair was not at her side. Claude looked out at the dance floor, and noticed him dancing with one of the students. He looked back to Byleth. Her face looked strained, and her body language communicated a lack of desire to be at the ball. Claude sighed. _Now or never,_ he told himself. He put on his most dazzling smile then he approached her. Byleth saw him coming from about ten feet away, and took a step back, as if wanting to make a run for it.

“Not a chance, Teach,” Claude said with a wink. He took the glass out of her hand and set it on a nearby table before leading her by the hand into the center of the room.

“I haven’t seen you stop dancing all night,” Byleth whispered to him as they swayed. She felt stiff in his arms. Claude locked eyes with Hilda from the other side of the dance floor, who nodded encouragingly.

“That’s the point of these things,” Claude whispered back. He adjusted his hands against Byleth’s so they would rest better together. “I‘ve hardly seen you dance since you first came in. Did Alastair ditch you?”

“Not at all. We had an arrangement before we came here.” Claude raised his eyebrows, urging her to continue. “You see, Alastair wouldn’t have been able to come to the ball without a date,” Byleth explained. “He would have been asked to remain on guard duty. I invited him to give him a night off, he was really looking forward to dancing. But me? . . . I’m not so good at it.”

“You don’t have to be perfect at everything, Teach,” Claude reminded her. When she said nothing in reply, Claude asked, “Then what did you get on your end of the bargain?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Byleth asked, chuckling darkly. “I couldn’t come here alone. Not with what everyone is saying. I knew we would have to dance together, and if—“

“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry. That was an insensitive question,” Claude hissed. “I’m sorry,” he said again more gently.

“It’s okay,” Byleth whispered. Her face was completely expressionless. “We’ve been doing really good about being cordial with each other and maintaining a respectable distance. I would hate to ruin that now.”

Claude’s smile grew strained as he saw just how drained and miserable she looked. Even if she wore no expression, Claude knew here tells. Her tight eyes, the bend in her posture. . . There had to be something he could do to lighten her mood. “I nearly forgot to tell you,” Claude whispered.“I’ve decided that I want the Golden Deer to meet on this day five years from now, during the millennium festival. Other class’s students can join in obviously, but the I’m making it an obligation for the Deer.”

“I think that would be fun,” Byleth said in a tone that communicated she didn’t quite get the point. 

“I want you to come too, Teach,” Claude said. “I know you probably won’t be a professor here anymore, but I figured, you know, hopefully by then all this rumor nonsense will be a long-forgotten memory and—“

“I’ll do it,” Byleth interrupted. Her eyes were intensely fixed on him. “You’re right, none of this will matter in five years’ time. I’ll come back in five years to see you.” She blinked. “All of you.”

“Good,” Claude said. He realized he had drawn closer, and readjusted so they were at a more respectable distance from one another. Looking down at her, Claude smiled again. “I like the dress, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Byleth said, though her smile looked forced. Claude felt her tense up again. “I had some money I’ve been putting away from my stipend. I was going to save it, but my dad told me I should buy something nice for myself every once in a while, so. . .”

“Well, you look perfect,” Claude said. “Your dad steered you in the right direction.”

“He gets lucky sometimes,” Byleth said with a shrug and a sly grin. She looked up at him, and her eyes widened. She stopped dancing, taking a step away from him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing a hand against her forehead. “I’ve suddenly become light-headed. I think I need some air.” The song ended on a bittersweet note and Byleth pulled further away.

“Should I go with you?” Claude asked.

“No,” Byleth insisted. “Think of how it would look.” She fled out the main door. Claude opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, when the bell began to chime.

Twelve times.

“Shit,” Claude muttered to himself. He had promised Petra he would meet her at the Goddess Tower. He looked back towards Byleth, who had disappeared into the crowd. He couldn’t go after her, he had a promise to fulfill. Claude snuck out of the hall and headed towards the church building. He ascended the steps to the Goddess Tower, and was relieved when he found Petra staring out a window by the stairs. “Did I keep you waiting long?” he panted.

Petra smiled softly. “Not at all,” she replied. She was still looking out the window, up towards the moon. The soft light made her dress shimmer as she shifted against the wall. “Do you really believe the goddess is hearing us on this night?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Claude admitted. He wrapped his arms around her waist and looked out at the moon with her. “I think the people of Fódlan have a lot of strange views about religion, though. I think they focus too much on strict rules and decrees that are impossible to follow by the letter.” He thought of Byleth, of how she had said the voice in her head shared the same name of the goddess. She had mentioned the girl feeling fear, anger, hesitation. . . “I don’t think the goddess they serve is so into rules. I think she’s more human than her followers realize.”

“Why is that?” Petra wondered. Claude shrugged.

“Just a hunch.”

Petra chuckled. “You say the funniest things sometimes.”

“Do I?”

“Mm-hmmm.” Petra turned to face him. “What shall we be making as our wish?”

Claude grinned mischievously down at her. “I’ve thought of that,” he said. “I actually did some research—“ Petra laughed and rolled her eyes, “and technically, the tradition translates to ‘the goddess shall grant a _promise_’ on the last night of the year.” His grin widened. “Not a wish.”

“I am dreading where this might go,” Petra teased.

“Oh, don’t my love,” Claude chuckled. He kissed her swiftly. “Because I have the perfect promise for you.”

Petra furrowed her brow as she laughed. “Aren’t we supposed to be creating a promise together?”

“I think this will be one you agree on,” Claude assured her. “I’ve been thinking about it since our talk the other night, and I think it’s the only thing I can do to help you. . .” He cupped her face in his hands. “I promise that I will find a way to get you home.” Petra froze, looking at him in open shock. Claude chuckled softly, stroking her cheek with his finger. “As long as it is within my power, I will find a way to free you from your trap. You will not live out your days as a hostage of the Empire. . . Is that a promise worthy of the goddess?”

Petra forced a sad smile. She placed her hands on either side of Claude’s face and kissed him gently. “I am thinking so,” she said.

Claude kissed her back, then held her tightly once more. “Then that settles it. May I see you safely home, or otherwise die a thousand deaths on the battlefield.”

Petra groaned. “You are having a dramatic sense of humor.”

“I thought that was why you like me?” Claude joked.

Petra chuckled. “Everything about you is why I am liking you.” She smiled up at him. “But you are still trouble.”

“I’m well aware,” Claude laughed. He looked out at the night sky, and Petra shivered. “You should head back,” Claude murmured, “before you catch a cold.”

“Okay,” Petra agreed. She kissed him on the jaw. “Are you not coming with me?”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes. I actually need some fresh air.” Petra nodded, then kissed Claude one last time before she walked down the stairs. Claude leaned against the window, looking up at the stars as he counted her fading steps. The silence relaxed him. It had been a long time since he had gazed at the stars. . .

A noise suddenly caught his attention. It came from a little further up the stairs. Claude’s heart raced. Logic told him it was probably another couple who had gone up to a higher level of the tower before he and Petra got there, but paranoia told him it could be an enemy. Rhea was concerned about intruders, after all. He scrambled for a wooden beam and raised it to use as a weapon if necessary. The footsteps grew louder as another person approached. . .

“Goddess!” Byleth exclaimed, her hand upraised. “Claude, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, I thought maybe—“ Claude stammered, dropping the beam. “What are you doing up here, Teach?”

“I came up for some air. And quiet,” Byleth admitted. “When I heard whispering below me, I figured a couple must have met here for the goddess to hear their wish.” She raised an eyebrow. “So I decided to wait to leave until they had gone. I didn’t hear you talking anymore, so I assumed. . .” She trailed off, looking around. “Where’s Petra?”

“She left a little before me,” Claude answered.

Byleth shook her head slightly. “We should also head back, then,” Byleth said. “If someone sees us here together they’ll assume the worst.”

“You’re probably right,” Claude agreed. He stepped aside for Byleth to lead the way down, then followed a few steps behind her. If someone were to come up the tower, at least then he would be out of sight enough to hide.

By some miracle, they made it to the base of the tower with no one else in sight. Only when they got closer to the ballroom did Claude decide to walk closer. Something in the back of his head was bothering him. . . “Were you intending on meeting someone up there?” he wondered. Byleth shook her head.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Then why not hide somewhere else?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Byleth hissed. “And I didn’t realize that was where I had gone until. . .” she gestured vaguely at the air. “I was up there.”

“Right,” Claude said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t want to argue with her. He was just curious. They were nearly back to the reception hall when Byleth suddenly flinched. “What?” Claude asked. 

“Sothis,” Byleth began. “She’s going on a bit of a tangent.” Her face looked strained, and Claude wondered if she was in pain. That seemed to be a common side-effect of talking about the voice in her head.

“What is her tangent about?” Claude asked.

Byleth was silent, as if mulling over what to tell him. For a moment, Claude worried that she would try to lie to him, before deciding that line of thought wasn’t worth the excess drama. Byleth took a deep breath, then opened her mouth to reply. “It’s about you,” she said. “She thinks that your—“

“Claude!” someone’s voice shouted. It was Ignatz, leaning out the doorway. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” he said with a laugh. 

“I was just—“ Claude started to say. He turned toward Byleth, but she had disappeared. Claude frowned to himself. “Getting some air.”

“Well, hurry up and get in. We’re letting all of the heat out!” Claude realized just how cold it was when he felt the warm air as he neared the door. But he looked back, and he spotted movement in the distance. It certainly was not Byleth, but whoever it was, they were heading toward the church. Claude prayed it was not an intruder, after all.

“Actually, I just realized I forgot my coat,” Claude said, gesturing vaguely outward. “Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be back!”

He ran back outward towards the moving figure, shivering now that he was aware of the cold crisp air. Just before catching them, Claude slowed. His vision focused, and he realized the person he was following was Rhea. She walked out towards the church balcony alone, without even her usual guards around her. Intrigued, Claude kept following her, though now at a significantly slower and quieter pace. When Rhea reached the railing, she sighed deeply to herself. Her shoulders were hunched and she appeared. . . weak. Which was not something Claude ever thought could describe her. He supposed even cultic religious figures felt the weight of the world on their shoulders now and again.

Nothing happened, not for several minutes. Claude was increasingly regretting not having more layers on. Just as he was about to give up, go back to the party and his girlfriend, Rhea suddenly straightened again. She began to sing.

“In time’s flow. . . see the glow of flames ever burning bright. . . On the swift river’s drift, broken memories alight. . .”

Claude’s heart began racing as he listened to the lyrics. He felt petrified in place. Something about the words set his chest on fire and placed a ringing in his ears. _Broken memories alight._ It was as if she was talking about him, about his ability to remember when Byleth turned back time. But Rhea. . . Did she know he was listening, and was she trying to lure him out? Or was this an indication that she, too, had the ability to remember when time was turned back? Was it possible that—

A light hand touched Claude’s arm and he gulped. Slowly, he turned, anxious to face Seteth’s wrath for spying on the archbishop. Instead, his eyes met Byleth’s. Her face was hardened, and her grip on Claude’s arm tightened the longer she rested it there. She jerked her head away from Rhea, signaling for Claude to follow her. The pair snuck away together as Rhea continued her song. 

“You shouldn’t be following her around.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. “What if she had been doing something considered treasonous for witnessing? You really need to think these things through.”

“That song. . .” Claude whispered. Byleth’s eyes watched him intently.

“You caught the line, too?” she guessed.

“Broken memories alight. . .” He looked down. “As in, memories coming back? Memories that shouldn’t be there?”

“I wondered the same thing. . .” Claude glanced up at Byleth. She was looking down, as well, her arms still crossed. “There’s something else about the song.”

“Yeah, Teach?”

“Sothis. . . Claims she wrote that song for someone,” Byleth whispered. She met his eyes again. There was a trace amount of fear in them. “She doesn’t agree with our theory, though I’d be willing to bet it’s because she’s stubborn—yes, you _are_ stubborn!” She grunted and shook her head, laughing darkly at nothing. “But if Rhea is singing her song, that may be the final proof that my Sothis is _the_ Sothis.”

“I would think so,” Claude agreed weakly. He tried to guess whether that would be a point of stress or relief for Byleth, but her face gave away nothing. “Gods, Teach. This gets more complicated at every turn.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Byleth sighed. She tapped her finger impatiently. “You should go back to the dance, find Petra. I don’t think I’m up for dancing anymore tonight. . . Too much on my mind.”

“Go get some rest then,” Claude said to her. Byleth stood in place silently, watching Claude as if she wanted to say something more before nodding her head. But when she turned to leave, Claude stopped her. “If you had met someone at the tower,” he whispered. “What would you have wished for?”

Byleth looked up at him with sad eyes. “I consider that a matter of privacy,” she said, jerking her arm away. She took two steps forward and stopped. “But. . . To be vague, I guess I would have wished for my dreams to come true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried sooooo hard to get them to make a wish together, but. . . It didn’t feel right. It just didn’t. So I’m sorry.
> 
> This chapter has been brought to you by a woman who wished the Gatekeeper was a proper S-Support option.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tragedy unites and breaks.

Dawn was barely breaking when Byleth shook Claude awake the morning after the ball. “What?” Claude groaned. He had barely gone to sleep a few hours prior, and he felt exhausted.

“Get up,” Byleth said sternly. Something was wrong. Claude shot up out of his bed.

“What’s going on?” He scrambled for his clothes.

“Hilda and Lorenz left the ball early last night for their shift at the abandoned chapel. They sent word to me that a group of students snuck into the building, but we concluded there was nothing too off about it. They were acting strange, according to Lorenz, but I assumed it was because they had been drinking. I just received another message from them that demonic beasts are now exiting the chapel, like the one that Miklan turned into.” Claude stumbled at the mention of Sylvain’s brother. “We have to get everyone over there now to give them backup.” Claude noticed that Byleth had the Sword of the Creator on her hilt, and he gulped. She did not carry the weapon with her unless she felt it was absolutely necessary. “Wake the others with haste. I’m going to help them.” With that, she fled the room.

Claude tugged on his chainmail and grabbed his bow. Moments later, he pounded on Marianne’s door. She opened it a sliver, the bags under her eyes darker than usual. “Claude?” she muttered, wiping her eyes. “What—“

“Get dressed. Head to the chapel. Demonic beasts are attacking,” Claude summarized. He ran to Sylvain’s room next, repeating the same message before heading to the rooms of his other classmates to give the same command. When the last of them was awake, he ran to the stables, praying that they were close behind.

As he was saddling his horse, Jeralt rode up beside him, looking like he had been riding since the night before. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“The abandoned chapel. Teach is already—“

At the word “Teach,” Jeralt reared his horse and took off towards the front gate. Claude gritted his teeth, hastening his preparations in hopes of being on the older man’s heels. Images of an injured Byleth from the month before plagued his mind and increased his fears. He had to get there fast.

The roar of a monster pierced the sky when Claude neared the chapel. His horse had hardly stopped by the time Claude was off its back. He had his bow out as he ran towards the noise. His throat closed on him as five black beasts came into his view, but he quickly recovered when he saw Hilda among the people fighting them. Claude rushed to her aid, though she barely needed it. Her axe went through the monster’s neck before Claude could aim his arrow.

Hilda looked back at him as he approached, blood smeared on her face. The massive corpse behind her melted into the body of one of the students. “We’re trying to protect the remaining students,” she panted. “Lorenz went off on his own. I’m afraid that he’s—“

“Leave it to me,” Claude said, running in the direction that his friend had pointed. A flash of light in the distance alerted him to Byleth’s location. But he could not get distracted. If her father had not been with her before, no doubt he was rushing to her side now. Claude needed to protect Lorenz, no matter how much that sentence annoyed him.

He found the purple-haired man jabbing a lance at a black beast similar to the one Hilda had felled. It snarled as the lance pierced its shoulder, then took the shaft of the weapon between its jaws and snapped it in half.

“Lorenz, get down!” Claude shouted. Lorenz ducked into some nearby bushes, barely dodging the demonic beast as it tried to bite him in half, as well. When it missed, it turned its attention towards Claude. Fear gripped him, but he had no time to let it take over. He was a dead man if it got to him, anyway. Claude shot an arrow at the beast, and missed. The beast took a step forward. Another arrow. It made impact, hitting the beast’s leg. The beast screeched, but took another step forward. Claude reached his hand back for a third arrow, hyper-aware of the fact that he had not packed extras in his haste. Another arrow hit the beast, but it was not from Claude’s bow. He looked over his shoulder, and Ignatz was a few paces behind him, bow raised.

“We’ve got this,” he said to Claude. Lysithea was beside him, already muttering an incantation that created a massive ball of light over the demonic beast. It came crashing down on the creature’s back, all but crushing it as it cried out in pain.

“There’s still more,” Claude said to them.

“We know,” Lysithea replied. “That’s where the others are. Go find them, we’ll make sure this one stays down.” She already had another ball of light forming in her hands. Claude nodded his head, moving towards the roars in the distance. Moments later, Lorenz was by his side.

“What are you doing? You have no weapon. Get out of here!” Claude commanded. Lorenz sneered at him.

“And let you take all the credit, von Riegan?” he panted. “Not a chance. Did I ever mention that I attended the magic academy before enrolling at Garreg Mach?”

Claude smirked back. “Then let’s see if you’re any good.”

They ran past Marianne, Raphael, and Linhardt as they took out another beast. Marianne rushed towards the student that lay still amongst the monster’s dissolving remains. “Do you think they’re dead?” Lorenz asked, his voice strained. Claude looked over at him, and his face was contorted with a mixture of sadness and worry.

“I don’t know,” Claude answered quietly. “Let’s just focus on saving who we can for now. Marianne and Linhardt can take care of them, okay?” Lorenz’s brow furrowed, but he nodded curtly. They ran into Leonie and Sylvain as the pair faced yet another beast, and helped to take it out as quickly as possible. They were all panting by the end of it, but the air was still and silent. Hopefully that meant the beasts had all been taken care of. “Has anyone seen Teach?”

“I saw her and Captain Jeralt heading towards the collapsed church building,” Leonie replied. She looked worried as she said Jeralt’s name. “They were checking for survivors.”

“Let’s make sure they’re okay,” Claude said. Leonie nodded. She and the others followed as Claude made his way to the building’s entrance, weapons still poised. Several knights could be seen coming and going from the area, carrying students out of the wreckage. Claude did not bother looking close enough to tell whether they were dead or unconscious. He was afraid to know.

Jeralt and Byleth were standing a little off to the side, talking with a student whose posture seemed entirely too relaxed for the situation they were in. Claude scoffed as he realized the student was Monica. He quickened his pace, curious to see what her side of the story was in all of this. A small part of him hoped she would get in trouble for sneaking off of school property late at night, though he knew it was hypocritical.

“Run along now,” Jeralt was saying to her as Claude reached hearing distance of them. He resisted the urge to groan at how calm the older man sounded. That likely meant Monica was in no trouble at all.

“Thanks for all your help, sir!” Monica beamed. The hair on the back of Claude’s neck stood on edge. Something wasn’t right. She was acting entirely too calm. Monica moved as if she was going to walk past Jeralt. But when she was beside him, she pulled a knife out and stabbed Jeralt in the back. Jeralt gasped, crumbling to the ground as Monica stood over him with a satisfied grin.

“No!” Byleth cried, but Claude was already charging forward, bow ready to aim. He wanted to wipe that smug grin off her face. He _knew_ there was something wrong with that girl! He was going to fucking kill her—reh llik gnikcufotgniog—

“Thanks for all your help, sir!” Monica beamed. The hair on the back of Claude’s neck stood on edge. _She’s going to kill him_, Claude realized. His suspicions were confirmed when Byleth drew the Sword of the Creator, extending its blade towards Monica as she walked past Jeralt. A man, pale in face to the point of looking like death itself, suddenly appeared between Monica and the sword, deflecting it with a source of magic so powerful that it knocked Byleth and her surrounding students backwards.

Monica stabbed Jeralt in the back.

Jeralt collapsed to the ground.

“Again!” Claude shouted at Byleth. Understanding crossed Byleth’s face, and the pale man looked at Claude curiously. No matter. He would remember nothing momentarily. And Claude would be ready this time—emit sihtydaereb—

“Thanks for all your help, sir!” Monica beamed. The hair on the back of Claude’s neck stood on edge. He was running forward, arrow notched as Byleth drew the Sword of the Creator and extended it’s blade towards Monica. The pale man appeared again, deflecting Byleth’s attack. Claude smirked, as the man was distracted. He took aim at Monica’s head, and he knew they would make it this time.

They were going to save Jeralt.

Claude heard a sickening crack, and pain shot up his left arm. He fell to the ground with a gasp, then a cry, his bow and arrow with him.

Monica stabbed Jeralt in the back.

Jeralt collapsed to the ground.

“No!” Byleth screeched. She raised her hands, reaching for her fallen sword, and Claude heard the same cracking sound before Byleth howled in pain as well. The pale man sneered at her, then turned his gaze to Claude.

“Stop resisting the inevitable, or it will be more than your hands that I break,” he told him. He turned to Monica. “We need to go.”

As he wrapped his arms around the small redhead, she looked down at Claude with a smug expression. “Bye, lovie,” she said with a laugh. Her and the pale man disappeared.

“Teach?” Claude asked desperately, looking towards his professor. She was running towards her father, both hands clutched to her chest and blood running down her arms. Claude looked down at his own injured hand, and nearly blacked out when he saw the bloodied fingers bent in unnatural angles. It was as if the man had broken every finger in his left hand. Claude had never seen magic do that before. The pain was almost enough to block out the rest of his senses. He had to strain to focus.

“Jeralt!” Leonie’s voice cried. Claude was vaguely aware of Sylvain’s voice replying to hers, telling her to stay back while Leonie desperately protested. But Byleth held most of Claude’s attention. She knelt over her father’s dying body. Jeralt raised a weak hand to her cheek and wiped a tear away. He was smiling, despite quickly fading. Jeralt whispered something to his daughter that Claude was too far away to hear. When his lips stopped moving, his body went limp in Byleth’s arms. Byleth’s teeth chattered.

She let in a sharp inhale, then screamed.

The commotion must have drawn the attention of the knights nearby, as they were suddenly running towards the small group encircling Jeralt’s dead body. Some took ahold of a sobbing Leonie and ushered the other students away. Others tried to get Byleth to stand, and she fought them with tears flowing down her face. She was still screaming, her chest heaving with the effort as she called out to her father.

Someone asked Claude to stand, and he did not respond. He could not respond. All he could do was watch helplessly as Byleth cried. He had failed her. He could have saved Jeralt. He _should have_ saved Jeralt. But he didn’t. He was too late. Now he had another life on his conscience, another person who he was unable to protect.

Claude was vaguely aware of arms wrapping around his waste and forcing him upward. He glimpsed up, and Raphael looked down at him with a somber expression. He said something to Claude, and when Claude said nothing in reply, the large man picked up his legs and carried him away. Claude could not understand what he was saying. He could not even hear him speak.

The only sound in the world was the sound of Byleth’s cries.

Manuela entered the Golden Deer classroom two mornings after Jeralt’s murder, and announced that her and Hanneman were going to take over Byleth’s classes until further notice. Nobody save for Manuela and Rhea had seen Byleth since her hands were bandaged. She kept herself locked in her room and refused to see anyone. “Please have patience for your professor as she processes this deep and tragic loss,” Manuela said. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and Claude swore her lip quivered when Leonie let out a quick, sharp sob in reply. “In the meantime, if you students need to take time to grieve, please feel free to do so. You are not to be assigned a mission until further notice, and the archbishop has also decided that attendance will not be mandatory this week. She knows that many of you here knew the captain and may be personally affected by his absence, as well.”

“Just say ‘death’,” Leonie said harshly. The torn look on her face as she stiffly rose from her chair and exited the classroom would haunt Claude’s nights for days to come. 

When the lecture was over—ended in haste by Manuela, who had another class to teach—the students remained in their seats, staring blankly at nothing in particular for several long, silent, agonizing minutes. “Does anyone else feel like we failed her?” Lysithea finally asked.

“Isn’t that why we’re all sitting here?” Caspar countered. He shook his head. “I know I am. . . Geeze, Captain Jeralt was so strong. It feels like he shouldn’t have—”

“We can’t dwell on the grief of someone not saved,” Raphael muttered. “We can only focus on who is still alive, now, and how we can best support them.”

Sylvain snickered halfheartedly. “Is that a word of wisdom coming from the class beefcake?”

“I’m not just a bunch of muscles, you know,” Raphael growled. “I’ve lost my parents, too.” He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “I know what it’s like. But at least I had Maya, and my grandpa. . . Does anyone know if the professor has _any_ other family?”

The room went quiet again.

“She has nobody,” Claude finally said, hating the silence and the places it took his mind. “Just us.”

“And we haven’t exactly been as close to her as we used to be,” Sylvain whispered. “Ever since the—“ his voice trailed off, leaving a tension in the air at the unspoken last word.

“Rumors,” Hilda said. Claude made a point of not looking around at the faces of his classmates. He kept his eyes on the hands resting on his desk. One bandaged, one perfect. Both shaking. “Just say it. None of us have been as close to the professor since the rumors started going around.”

“I never believed them. . .” Flayn whispered.

“But that’s different, you’re a saint,” Lysithea said dismissively. Flayn made an exasperated noise in reply.

Claude could feel several pairs of eyes on him, but still he did not look up. “Why are you all looking at me?” he asked, and his voice was much tighter than he had realized.

“Well. . .” Ignatz said. He paused to clear his throat. “You are sort of. . . The—you know—other half of the rumor.” Claude glanced up at him, and his eyes widened. “I’m not accusing you of anything!” he added hastily. “But. . . You were so close to her, and whatever she did to you after the Battle of Eagle and Lion, well, it seemed to really hurt you. I guess it made us all a bit. . .”

“Suspicious?” Lorenz guessed.

“I was going to say ‘hesitant’. . .”

“Are you trying to say it’s _my_ fault that all of you pulled away from her?”

No response.

“Well, I never asked that of any of you,” Claude said sharply. And this time he _did_ glare around the room. He only averted his gaze when he met Marianne’s worried eyes. “I told you all from the beginning that it was between me and Teach, and it didn’t concern anyone else. And I’ve been making efforts to repair my friendship with her for weeks now. If you chose to still keep yourself distant from her, that’s on you.”

Lorenz scoffed. “Really? That’s the stance you’re taking? Are you seriously going to—“

“Stop,” Hilda demanded, and to Claude’s surprise, Lorenz listened. “He’s right. We can’t push around blame and point fingers in this situation. It’s not productive.” Lorenz started to protest again, and Hilda shut him up with a glare. “We _all_ have a part to play in Professor Byleth’s isolation. And we all need to make sure to make up for it. . . Now more than ever.”

Claude’s hands were still shaking. He was grateful for Hilda defending him, but it did not stop the pang of guilt from rising in his chest. He stubbornly wiped the tears from his face, taking in an unstable breath. The image of Byleth crying over Jeralt just would _not_ leave his mind.

He was being watched again. He could sense it. It was only then that Claude realized nobody was speaking, either. He turned around, eyes meeting faces that were a blend of grief and concern and guilt and anger. Even if no one was arguing with Hilda, it was still fairly evident on some of the faces that looked back at him where they thought blame should go. “What?” he asked.

“You’re the schemer,” Linhardt said, almost lazily. “And you claim to be making amends with the professor, yes?” Claude blinked. “So, what do we do?”

Everyone continued to watch Claude expectantly, and his heart beat faster. _‘What do we do?’ What _can_ we do?_ “I don’t know,” Claude said weakly. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. A ringing began in Claude’s ears. The silence was deafening. Claude couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He rose from his desk, feeling light-headed. “If I come up with something, I’ll let you know. . .”

And he walked out of the room.

There was exactly one good thing that came out of Jeralt’s death: absolutely no one gave a shit about the rumors anymore. How could they? What did it matter who had allegedly slept with who when Jeralt, Blade Breaker, Captain of the Knights of Seiros, had been murdered just outside of the monastery grounds? For every bouquet that was placed on his grave, another rested on Byleth’s doorstep, waiting to be received whenever—if ever—she would leave her room. For some reason, though, that fueled Claude’s anger. Where had the support of Byleth’s students been when the rumors were spreading? Where had the love and solidarity been before it was needed? There was a reason Byleth was not leaving her room, Claude was sure, and it was because she did not believe in the support of the students, either.

But was it right to put that all on him?

Claude lay in his bed, staring helplessly at his bandaged hand. He had not slept in over a week, not since the day that Jeralt had been killed. Killed by _Monica_. After that first day Manuela took over the class, Claude took care to act more collected in front of his classmates, to ignore the ones who were quick to glare and point fingers while acting as a pillar for those who were finding grief in the situation. But he was tired. He was miserable. And not only because he felt as though he should bear the responsibility of Jeralt’s death: Claude could not stand that Byleth still hadn’t left her room. Still had spoken to no one. He thought of the pain she must be feeling, the grief she endured. And she was going through all of it alone.

Claude couldn’t take it anymore.

If he was not going to be able to sleep anyway, he reasoned that he might as well go try to talk with her. He _needed_ to talk with her. And as foolish as it sounded in his mind, he knew that Byleth needed to speak with him, too.

He rose from his bed, keeping the bandaged hand close to his chest. He marched himself to her room, not even caring if he passed by anyone else along the way. Fuck if the rumors flared up again. This went so far beyond that.

Claude was relieved to see light under Byleth’s door when he approached it, but he knew her being awake was only the beginning of the battle. Claude stepped over wilting bouquets and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear Byleth crying quietly on the other side, her sobs barely audible through the thick wooden planks. He tapped his knuckles against the door, and Byleth went silent. “Teach?” Claude said to her. “It’s Claude. Will you let me in?”

No response.

Claude sighed. “Come on, Teach. I know you’re hurting, but it’s not good for you to lock yourself away and grieve alone.” Claude smirked to himself, but with no amusement. “Believe me, I know from experience.”

Silence.

“Byleth,” Claude pleaded. “Please talk to me.”

Nothing.

Claude leaned back against the wooden door, sliding down into a seated position. The paper wrapping on the bouquets crinkled softly as they shifted to make room for him. Claude was not ready to give up quite yet. “Fine,” he said. “Then I guess I have no choice but to talk to you through the door.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. He could hear movement coming from inside the room, inching closer, then stopping. Claude could almost sense Byleth’s expectancy through the wall. “I’m going to tell you a story. And by the end of it. . . I hope you’ll let me in.”

A soft thud from the other side told Claude that she was now leaning against the door as he was.

“Once upon a time,”—wasn’t that how all good stories began?—“there was a young man who grew up far to the east of here. He was always enamored by Fódlan and it’s secrets, despite the fact that the society he was raised in told him that the people there were his enemy. One day, an old friend—a soldier growing quickly in military ranks—offered to sneak the young man into the country that he so often looked out towards. The young man agreed, and allowed his friend to smuggle him westward. He had to go in disguise, of course, as anyone who recognized who he was or where he was from surely would have killed him.

“One day, in the woods, he was attacked by some bandits who hoped to rob him. In the moment where he was sure he would be killed, a warrior came out of nowhere and saved him. She was the most beautiful woman the young man had ever seen. . .” Claude chuckled softly. “I’ll skip all of the romantic stuff, but long story short, they fell in love. He married her and whisked her away to his home country, both well aware that they would never be able to return to her homeland. But the young man was optimistic. He took his new bride to his father’s house, expecting to be welcomed home with open arms. . . But he wasn’t.

“His father was furious with him for marrying an outsider. Especially one from Fódlan. And that spelled out doom for the young couple. You see, in the land this man came from, a man could not marry without his father first giving him leave to establish his own household, which had not yet been done for the young man. Therefore, though they had been properly wed in Fódlan before leaving together, the young man’s father had the right to annul their marriage. And he did. . . Though whether out of spite, or the fear of a Fódlan woman taking over his ki—his wealth, I do not know.”

Claude shifted uncomfortably. “The young couple, of course, did not consider the annulment legitimate. But even so, the young woman was forced to live in the father’s servant’s quarters, and she could not enter the young man’s house without his father threatening her life. For years, the young man begged and pleaded for his father to change his heart, but his prejudice against the woman’s people was so strong that he refused, intentionally delaying the man’s right to establish his own household so he could not legally be considered a married man in their country. The couple was distraught, as they had originally wanted a joyful house filled with love and many children. They held off on having kids, because they were afraid of their children being treated like bastards. . .

“Years passed, and their window for having children was dwindling. They came up with a plan, knowing the risk they were taking was great. The young man and his wife conceived their first child, then marched to meet with his father. They hoped the shame of having a bastard grandchild would pressure him into giving the young man his right that was long overdue. But the man’s father called their bluff. He waited until a month after the woman gave birth to finally give the man his right to establish a home. They were married in the man’s home country immediately. But they had already brought a ‘bastard’ child into the world. The child’s name. . .” Claude closed his eyes, taking another deep breath. His hands were shaking. If he did not speak a single word more, then his story would just be a story. He could go back to his room, go to sleep, pretend he had never said anything. His heart pounded, and it felt like fire in his chest, filling him with grief and fear. _You’re not doing this for yourself_, Claude told himself firmly. _You’re doing this for her._

“Her name was Hadassah. And the couple loved her more than anything else in the world. Unfortunately, theirs was the only love she was given. Everyone else treated her as if she were less than garbage, in part due to her half-Fódlan heritage, and in part because she was considered an illegitimate child. Hadassah never took it personally, though. She was a kind and gentle soul with a heart of gold. Even though she was alone. Her parents tried and tried to have more children, to fill their house the way they still wanted to, to give her a companion in the form of a younger sibling, but they struggled to conceive again. It was a handful of years before they were successful in getting pregnant, for the second and last time. They gave Hadassah a little brother. 

“Now, I won’t bother telling you much about him. He was a scoundrel and a schemer, always getting into trouble from the shadows where nobody could see him. Like Hadassah, he was hated for his race. For something he couldn’t control. But. . . _Unlike_ Hadassah, he at least was not seen as a bastard by the people around him. As such, none of the people working in their grand estate would acknowledge her as the heir, threatening to kill her and her brother if they ever tried to give her power over the land and people they oversaw. Because the only thing that could possibly be worse than being an outsider was a bastard outsider. But the family of four was in agreement, that Hadassah was the one and only heir to the estate, both by birthright and by her capability to rule. So, many people _did_ try to kill the children. Both of them. Countless times.

“That always angered the brother. He never understood how people could treat his kind, intelligent, amazing sister so cruelly.” Claude stopped, wiping a tear from his eye as he gritted his teeth. “He learned about poisons, and even built up immunities to the worst of them. He learned how to detect them in wine glasses and dinner plates, which was important, as their parents held many feasts as the children grew up. He begged his father’s old friend—by now, an esteemed general—to teach him how to use a bow so he could take out attackers before they could even reach them. . . Not that his bow ever ended up being used for that purpose. He learned anyway, as he considered himself to be Hadassah’s protector, even though she was quite a few years older than he was. They were each other’s only human companions, and they got along. . . incredibly well, despite how different their personalities were. The two siblings would spend many afternoons together on her pale wyvern, flying around the plains that stretched out just beyond their estate. In the spring, they would find patches of flowers to land in, and the boy would braid blossoms into his sister’s hair. She always liked the white ones the best. . .” Claude paused to clear his throat.

“Then one day, a mysterious uncle came to visit them, from all the way in Fódlan. He tested both children for something called a crest, of which neither Hadassah nor her brother had ever heard of before. Their parents never saw the point in teaching the pair of siblings about crests since they were only valued in Fódlan, a place they never expected their children to travel to. Hadassah did not bear a crest, but her brother did. Their uncle explained to them that bearing a crest meant the boy could go with him to Fódlan and inherit his own land, a noble title, and even a weapon of unspeakable power. But he would have to leave the land he was raised in, and due to the danger of people discovering the other half of his heritage, he likely would never come home again.

“That night, the brother snuck into Hadassah’s room, and the pair of them lay awake until the sun rose, speaking of the possibility of him leaving. Despite being barely sixteen, barely old enough to braid his hair and call himself a man, the boy was determined to leave. He hoped that his absence would leave no choice but for the people around them to accept his sister as heir to their father’s land. That wasn’t the only motivation, though. He hoped that, when he got his hands on the weapon that supposedly only those with crests like his could bear, that he could destroy the wall that separated Fódlan from the rest of the world. Then he and his sister could visit each other as often as they wanted. Everyone could get to know each other better, and being of two different races would no longer be considered such an abomination. He and Hadassah could finally be. . . normal. Happy, even.”

Claude’s throat was becoming tight as he forced himself to finish quickly, not wanting to dwell too long on the end of his story. “So he agreed to leave. His uncle rode ahead to make plans with the mother’s childhood friend—a well-known and respected noble in her own right—to establish him as nobility once the move was complete. Once everything was ready, the brother packed his bags, kissed his mother and father goodbye, hugged Hadassah for the last time, then he rode off towards his new life, eager to create a new world that he and his sister could live in harmoniously.” Tears were spilling down Claude’s face, and his breathing was ragged. “He was only gone for a few weeks when his mother wrote him a letter that his sister had been killed. Her throat was slit as she lay peacefully in her bed.”

His voice began to crack.

“The boy never responded to the letter, though days turned into weeks, and weeks to months. He wanted to blame his parents for not protecting her in his absence, but in truth. . . the boy. . . I. . . blamed myself.” He could hear Byleth shift against the doorway. “I should have protected her, and I failed. And I was _so angry_ at myself, that I didn’t allow myself to grieve. I told myself that it was because I still had a mission to accomplish, that I had to soldier on to create this new world for her, but the truth was that I’ve been afraid to face it. I haven’t been home, I haven’t spoken to my parents in nearly two years. Because I didn’t know how I would go on living after facing her death. I thought that if I didn’t acknowledge it, that if I never said out loud that she’s gone, that it wouldn’t be true. That I could still hope to see her one day. To braid white flowers braided into dark hair. But it is true, Teach. . .” he sobbed quietly against the door. “My sister is dead.” He could barely force out those last four words. “And it took me until right now to face it. . . I don’t want that for you,” he said. “I don’t want you to be so wrapped up in blaming yourself for the hatred of others as I was, that you keep yourself closed off from the rest of the world, physically or emotionally. It is not your fault that your father is dead, and you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Byleth opened the door, hardly more than a crack. Like Claude, she was sitting on the floor. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, stains from her tears created lines down her cheeks. Her lip was quivering as she slid her bandaged hand out beyond the door. Claude took it gently in his good one. “Let me grieve with you,” Claude whispered. “Please.”

Byleth opened the door wider, and Claude crawled in, closing the door behind him. He pulled Byleth into his lap, broken hands clutched to her chest, as tears ran down her face again. Claude held her as her chest heaved with sobs, and stroked her hair as she cried and cried and _cried_. And Claude cried along with her. His own grief mixed with hers, both for the sister he had lost, and for the loss felt by the woman in his arms.

“I failed him,” Byleth gasped. “He is the only person who ever—loved me, and he’s gone. I took him for granted, Claude. Now I’m—I’m alone. I’m—”

“Shh, shh,” Claude said soothingly. He continued to stroke her hair. “You are not alone,” he whispered in her ear.

_You have me._

Claude awoke the next morning to Byleth’s door opening. Byleth was still curled in his arms, sleeping restlessly. Manuela looked down at the pair, and Claude was not sure if her expression was one of sympathy or contempt. Regardless, he felt a wave of shame wash over him. “Go back to your room, Mister von Riegan,” Manuela whispered. Her voice sounded hoarse. Claude roused Byleth from her sleep so he could stand up again. He squeezed past Manuela without looking her in the eyes.

It was barely dawn. A thin mist coated the ground and frost covered the grass. Claude shivered as he trudged to his room, a mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. The strongest of which was guilt, though a distinctly different guilt than he had felt the night before.

_Nothing even happened._

Claude opened the door to his room and was surprised to find Hilda sitting on the bed.

“Hils?” Claude muttered, sleep still thick in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I was up all night with Leonie,” Hilda said, not looking up at him. She had a package in her hands that she twisted idly. “She’s been really—well, you know.” She shrugged. Claude noticed her voice was shaking. “I finally got her to go to sleep about twenty minutes ago, then decided I needed some sleep myself. The post came in as I was heading back to my room, they handed me this for you.” She extended the package to Claude, her eyes still downcast.

He lazily tugged at the parchment paper with his good hand, trying his best not to drop the package as he unwrapped it. Realizing how much he was struggling, Hilda took the package back and unwrapped it for him.

“How is she?” Hilda asked, her voice hitching on the last word. She finally looked up, and her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, her face splotchy, and her make-up smeared. “You were with her, right? I’m not accusing you, I’m just asking.”

“She’s not good,” Claude admitted. He ran his hand through his hair. The pang in his stomach would not go away. “But can you blame her?”

“No,” Hilda whispered. “I can’t even imagine watching my dad be—“ She took in a shuddering breath. Shaking her head, she opened the lid of the unraveled box in her lap. “There’s a letter.”

“Let me see,” Claude murmured. He took the paper from Hilda and skimmed its contents. It was written in Judith’s hand.

_This probably won’t make it to you in time for the ball, but maybe you’ll find another use for it? Anything is better than collecting dust._

_-J_

“Did you have this made?” Hilda asked, admiration tinting the weariness in her eyes as she gazed at the gold bangle in her hands. “The craftsmanship is beautiful, but I think it might be a little too feminine for you.”

Claude chuckled at her attempt at humor. “It belonged to my uncle. I wanted to wear it the other night, but my grandfather couldn’t find it.”

“Couldn’t find it or didn’t look?”

“Honestly, who cares?” Claude asked absently. He took the gold bangle and slid it on his wrist. It fit, but barely. His uncle must have had significantly smaller arms than he did if this was actually made for him. Claude sighed, wriggling it off his wrist. His eyes lazily looked up at the calendar hanging on the wall, and he frowned. “How many days has it been since the ball?”

Hilda shrugged. “Nine?” she guessed. “I haven’t been paying much attention to the days since—“

“It’s Teach’s birthday today,” Claude said. Hilda tilted her head.

“The one she picked for herself?”

“Yeah, the third day of the Guardian Moon. That’s today.”

“Shit,” Hilda sighed. “Normally I would say our class should throw her a party or something, but under the circumstances. . .”

“I know. It isn’t really a good time to celebrate anything.” Claude looked down at the ground. “It would probably just make her feel worse.” He turned the bangle lazily in his good hand, and it gave him an idea. “I know what we can do for her.”

Claude leaned against the wall around the corner to Byleth’s room, listening as Hilda knocked on her door. He fully expected Byleth to not answer, but to his surprise, he heard the door open almost immediately. “Hilda? What are you doing here?” She sounded hoarse, but it didn’t seem like she had been crying recently.

“I know you aren’t up for seeing anyone,” Hilda said gently, “but I wanted to give you your birthday present, from our class, and a card we all. . . It is your birthday today, right?”

“In a manner of speaking. . .” Byleth muttered, hardly loud enough for Claude to hear.

A moment of silence passed.

“We are still here for you, Professor,” Hilda finally said. “For anything.”

“Thank you,” Byleth said. Her words sounded almost hollow.

“Is there anything that you need?” Hilda asked.

“No,” Byleth murmured. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. . . I’ll be seeing you, then,” Hilda said weakly. “And. . . Professor, I’m _sorry_.”

“Thank you,” Claude heard Byleth say again. This time she at least sounded a little more genuine. Claude waited for the sound of her door closing again before walking around to meet up with Hilda.

“Damn,” Hilda whispered, crossing her arms. “That was. . .”

“Heartbreaking,” Claude finished. He took a shuddering breath. “We should head to class. We’ve done all we can.” He didn’t feel like he had done anything at all.

The pair walked into their classroom, and Claude dreaded the day ahead. He didn’t want to go to class, but he refused to take time off. He had to be strong. For the rest of his class. For all of the Golden Deer. For Byleth, he had to keep showing up. Somebody had to.

When Hanneman walked in a few minutes later to start the morning lecture, Claude’s heart only sank deeper.

Claude was sitting inside the reception hall, his head resting on one of the wooden tables, when a shift in weight indicated that someone had sat next to him. He peaked up and spotted a wisp of straight white hair.

“This might be selfish of me,” Edelgard’s voice said. “But I blame myself for what happened.”

Claude tensed up, but said nothing. He wanted her to continue.

“For all intents and purposes, Monica was under my care,” Her voice was shaking slightly. “To think that Captain Jeralt is— Because Monica—“ Edelgard’s fist slammed on the table. “Professor Byleth wouldn’t speak to me. I know that she won’t speak to anyone, so it’s probably not personal. But it feels that way.” Claude sat up, meeting her eyes. “I know things between the two of you are. . . strained. But you’re the closest person to her now, so until I am able to give my apology to her directly, will you please accept it for me on her behalf?” Her eyes were welling up with tears as she watched him intently, waiting for an answer.

Not knowing what else to do, Claude wrapped his arms around her shoulders and embraced her. “No one blames you, Edelgard,” he whispered to her. “You’re not the one who put the knife in Monica’s hands, or forced her to drive it into his side.” Claude flinched at his own words.

“What makes you so sure of that?” Edelgard replied. When Claude’s shoulders tensed up, she chuckled humorlessly. “Sorry,” she said. “Old habits die hard, I guess. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually been open with you before.”

“You were fairly honest with me the other night,” Claude reminded her. He straightened up to look at her. “Though you did say it gave you a terrible feeling in your gut.”

Edelgard smiled, wiping a tear that fell on her face. “I think I would have less issues if I had ingested one of your poisons.”

Claude laughed. “Don’t underestimate my skill with them,” he teased lightly.

“Never,” Edelgard whispered. She stood up and stretched. “I’ll let you return to your nap. . . Thank you, Claude. For listening.” Edelgard’s smile quickly dropped as she left Claude alone.

Claude shrugged, too lethargic to dwell on her mood. When he stretched his arms to get back into a comfortable position, his left hand twitched, then cramped up in pain. Claude winced, trying to flex his fingers back, but they wouldn’t budge. He tried again, and it only made the pain worse. _Time to see the medic_, Claude thought with a hint of dread, standing up from the table and heading towards the stairs. When he reached the infirmary, he could hear Manuela humming what sounded like a bittersweet love song to herself. It was hard to remember sometimes that she used to be an opera singer, but her voice was truly beautiful. Claude would have been tempted to hide behind the wall and listen to her for a while longer were his hand not hurting so badly.

“Professor Manuela?” Claude called, walking through the doorway. Manuela immediately stopped singing.

“Oh!” she gasped, straightening in her chair. “How can I help you, Claude?”

“It’s my hand,” Claude started, and Manuela leapt from her chair.

“The stitches aren’t coming undone, are they?” she asked frantically.

“No, no,” Claude assured her. “It’s just cramping badly. I’ve never had a broken hand do that before.”

“I don’t recall you ever coming in here with a broken hand before,” Manuela stated questioningly. She cocked an eyebrow at him, and Claude tried to give her one of his usual smiles.

“I got into quite a few fights before my time at the monastery,” he told her.

Manuela chuckled softly. “Ah, to be young,” she sighed with a singing tone, gently untying the bandages on his left hand. “Fights over girls?”

“Something like that,” Claude replied, and a collage of instances spent in white-hot anger defending Hadassah’s honor came to mind.

“I assume those stopped when you started dating one of my students, then.” She hummed to herself for a moment. “Petra speaks of you often.”

“She’s wonderful,” Claude chuckled. “I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

“Is that so?” Manuela asked. There was an accusation in her tone. Claude suddenly remembered that she had been the one to wake Claude up in Byleth’s room the other morning. His face felt warm.

“Professor, about the other day. . .”

Manuela sighed and shook her head. Claude’s hand was resting in her palm, revealing the unsettling pull of stitches keeping his fingers set in place as the bones mended themselves. His hand was still cramped in a half-curled position, causing an uncomfortable sensation up his arm. “I’m not suggesting that anything happened,” Manuela told him. She muttered something to herself, and a soft white light enveloped his hand. The fingers relaxed, and Claude sighed with relief as the pain dissolved. Manuela stood up to retrieve a clean roll of bandages. “I’m only asking you to be aware of the situation you are putting yourself in. The students around here aren’t the only ones with ears, you know.”

Claude’s ears grew hot as he frowned at her. “Teach’s father just died,” he replied carefully. “Are you saying I should let her go through that alone?”

“Not at all,” Manuela insisted. “I think your concern for your professor is very sweet. But. . .” She sighed, seeming to work out her next sentence as her mouth moved soundlessly. “You’re still young, and sometimes there are things that you don’t understand until you’ve gained a little more. . . Perspective.”

“Such as?” Claude prodded. He could feel himself wanting to become defensive, but experience told him that was the best time to keep his mouth shut.

Manuela looked back down at his hands with a noise of impatience. “Does Petra know that you were in your professor’s room alone to comfort her?” she asked. Claude gulped, but said nothing. He watched Manuela finish bandaging his hand in silence. She must not have expected an answer. “There you go,” Manuela murmured. She pat Claude’s hand tenderly. “The joints are looking a little more swollen than I would like. Have you been drinking the tea I gave you?”

“No,” Claude admitted. Manuela gave him an exasperated look.

“You need to take care of yourself, Mister von Riegan,” she groaned. “That’s probably why your hand cramped up.”

“I’m sorry,” Claude muttered.

Manuela pat his cheek. “Come to me if you need anything else. Healing, herbs, or otherwise.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “And a free tip before you leave, I recommend telling Petra where you were the other night. And don’t expect her to be happy with it.”

Claude’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Any time, dearie.” Manuela sat back in her chair as Claude walked out the door, and resumed her bittersweet tune.

A shuffling noise caught Claude’s attention from down the hall. It was coming from Jeralt’s room. Claude frowned, drawing a knife with his good hand. If a thief was rummaging through Jeralt’s things, at a time like this. . .

“Ha!” Claude exclaimed, bursting through the door. Byleth jumped from inside the room, nearly dropping the item in her hands. “Teach?!” Claude asked incredulously.

“Sh!” Byleth urged. She pulled him in and closed the door behind him. 

“What are you doing?” Claude hissed. Byleth looked down, as if she was ashamed. Claude rolled his eyes, but softened his tone. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I just didn’t expect you to be out of your room. I thought you were a thief.” Byleth’s hands were un-bandaged, with some of the stitches strained from her moving her hands. Blood trickled from an opened wound. “Seiros’s fucking Crest,” Claude growled. “Why are you letting yourself bleed everywhere like that? You should’ve kept your bandages on.” He turned to Jeralt’s shelf and started rummaging through his things. As an ex-mercenary, the man had to have had some gauze or something stored in his office.

“Before my father died. . .” Byleth started, halting Claude in his steps. “He told me there was something that he wanted to tell me.” Claude watched helplessly as Byleth clutched her waist with bleeding hands. “And that if. . . Something happened to him, before he told me. . . That he had something hidden that would give me the answers.” She picked up the item that she had dropped: a leather-bound journal, similar in appearance to the one Byleth kept, only older and thicker. “Care to ask me what I found?” Byleth whispered shakily.

Claude’s throat felt as though it were closing. “Bandages first.” He turned back to the shelf, good hand searching until he found what he was looking for. When he approached Byleth, he noticed a near-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside her. “This seems familiar,” he scolded her. “Only last time, I believe it was _you_ telling _me_ that I reeked of booze and wondering why I was bleeding.”

“Don’t pester me like I’m a child,” Byleth pouted. She _had_ been drinking, Claude realized now, seeing how her head swayed slightly. “Do you know what this is?” Byleth asked, holding up the journal with one hand as Claude bandaged the other. “It’s my dad’s diary. Did you know he actually used to keep track of dates and years, used to journal every fucking day?”

“I didn’t,” Claude said levelly, trying to counteract the strain in Byleth’s tone. He struggled to wrap the gauze around her wrist with only one good hand, and considered getting Manuela to help him.

“Then you probably didn’t know I was the reason he stopped, either,” Byleth said, lifting the journal to a bookmarked page. Claude’s hand slipped, and he cursed under his breath. “Day 20 of the Horsebow Moon, year 1159,” Byleth recited bitterly. “All is cloudy. I can’t believe she’s dead. Lady Rhea said she died during childbirth. But is that the truth?” Anger was causing her volume to rise. “And still, the child she traded her life for doesn’t make a sound. Didn’t even cry at birth.”

“Teach. . .”

“I’m twenty-one years old.” Byleth’s voice hitched. “And he pretended I was younger so no one could trace me back to the monastery. He faked my death and his own to protect me, and I couldn’t even muster enough emotion to tell him I love him once in twenty-one _fucking_ years!”

“You need to calm down before you get hysteric.”

Byleth shot Claude a look filled with desperation and fear. “I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me to find out that he also took me to a doctor when I was first born to see if anything was wrong with me. And do you know what the doctor told him? I have no heartbeat! No. Heartbeat, Claude!”

“Now, you’re just being ridiculous,” Claude groaned. He couldn’t handle her on his own. When he finished tying the bandage on one hand, he turned to the door to fetch Manuela. Byleth snatched his wrist.

“Is it ridiculous?” she whispered. She drew his hand up towards her chest, placing the palm flat where her heart rested. “Is it?” Byleth repeated.

There was no heartbeat.

There was warmth and softness and. . . life, for the lack of a better word, but not the rhythmic beating that usually confirmed those things.

_There is no heartbeat._

Claude quickly drew his hand away, panting quietly as he looked back and forth between Byleth’s chest and her eyes still wide with fear. “Are you dead?” Claude whispered. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing in the world. Not anymore. Claude had experienced too much over the last several months to rule anything out merely because it was illogical.

Byleth sighed. She extended her bandaged hand again, this time wordlessly asking Claude to give his hand over rather than forcing him. Claude was hesitant, but he obliged. Byleth gently folded all but his pointer and middle fingers, guiding them up to the side of her neck just under her jaw.

_Bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum. . ._

“Not dead,” Byleth murmured, releasing Claude’s hand once more. “I have a pulse, just no heartbeat.” Claude looked down, noticing her other hand, and remembered it was still bleeding. Byleth kept talking as he wrapped it in gauze like the first, only this time her tone was more gentle. “I don’t know how to make sense of it,” she confessed. “My dad told me not to trust Rhea when I first came here, but I never knew why.” Her voice quivered. “It sounds like he thought that she had something to do with the death of my mother. . . What if she’s the reason I’m like this?” She gestured vaguely to herself. “What if the reason that I never used to feel anything, I can wield the Sword of the Creator, I hear a voice in my head. . . Is because I was an experiment?” She spit the last word out like venom. “I really am cursed.”

“You’re not cursed,” Claude asserted. As he finished tying the bandage, he rested his hands on Byleth’s shoulders. “It is not your fault that these things happened. Not what Rhea did to your mother, not the abilities you have been given, not what happened to your father—“ Claude sighed.

“Sothis told me the same thing,” Byleth said. “She said that the fact that we didn’t—that I couldn’t—she said his death was fate, and that I just had to accept it, grieve, and move on.” She sighed. “Maybe it is my fate to be alone, as well.”

“Fuck that type of thinking,” Claude said. He pressed his forehead against Byleth’s, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Sometimes life gives you a bad hand, and you have to choose whether you’re going to let it continue to take you down a path of misery, or make a better path of your own to follow. It is _not_ your fate to be alone, Teach.”

“Is that why you came here?” Byleth asked. “To escape the hand that was dealt out for you and. . . Hadassah?” She barely uttered the name. Claude wondered if she thought she had made up him telling her the story the other night.

A faint smile crossed Claude’s lips. “I suppose so,” he admitted.

“I know the bracelet came from you,” Byleth whispered. Claude froze. “You were the only one who knew my birthday, and. . . Why did you not give it to me yourself? Why did you say it was from the whole class instead?” Byleth’s head tilted, and Claude’s mind began racing. He suddenly became aware of just how close his lips were to hers, of how little he would have to shift to. . .

He took a step back. Manuela’s words came flooding into his head, washing over him with a wave of shame and his heart beat violently. Byleth jumped, concern filling her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Ah, you know what?” Claude said, taking another step back as casually as he could muster. “I just remembered that I was supposed to meet up with Petra. I can’t keep her waiting, otherwise she’ll worry.”

“Okay,” Byleth stammered. She could probably tell that something was wrong, but Claude wasn’t going to tell her. Gods, how could he?

Another step backward.

“The Golden Deer miss you, Teach. Not just me, but everyone. That’s why they gave you that bracelet. You should start coming back to class soon. . . I think it’ll raise your spirits to see them again.” He did not wait for Byleth to reply before he fled the room. Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them back. _Nothing happened_, he though to himself desperately.

But this time, he did not believe it.

Some time later, Claude found himself opening Petra’s door. She was sitting at her desk with Dorothea standing behind her, helping to braid her hair. Neither fully looked up at him. “Oh, hey Puppy,” Dorothea said teasingly. “I’m surprised you’re—“

“Can I speak with Petra alone?” Claude asked. He widened his smile, careful not to show any strain. Still, Dorothea looked up at him questioningly. “Thea. Please.”

Dorothea and Petra looked at each other, then back at Claude. “Sure,” Dorothea replied carefully. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Claude said. And he tried so hard to smile wider. “Everything is fine, I just want some alone time with my girlfriend.”

“Ah. ‘Alone time.‘ Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dorothea absently patted Petra’s shoulder. She kissed Claude’s cheek and teasingly whispered, “Have fun,” before leaving, the door closing securely behind her.

“You could have been acting with more subtlety,” Petra said. She rose from her chair and walked to Claude, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “Now I will have to endure endless teasing.”

Claude stopped her, gently taking her hands in his and wrapping them around his neck so he could in turn embrace her.

“You know that I love you?” he said in her ear, and he could feel her stiffen against him.

“I know that you love me,” Petra said without hesitation.

“But you know that I keep secrets from you?” Claude asked her. Petra inhaled sharply.

“I know,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. Claude cupped her face, kissing her cheek, her forehead, her nose, her lips, before embracing her again. “What is giving you concern?” Petra asked. Claude laughed humorlessly.

“I just had a. . . revelation of sorts. I shouldn’t have secrets from you.” He hugged her tighter, and she ran her fingers through his hair. “Pet. . . I want to tell you everything.”

Byleth finally showed up to teach her class the next day, and she was wearing the golden bangle on her wrist. Hilda was ecstatic. Claude thought he would be too, but the guilt within him grew.

She wore the bangle on her wrist every day after.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea summons Claude to meet with her in private.

“Mister von Riegan,” Seteth’s voice called. Petra quickly pulled her legs off of Claude’s lap and sat up straight as Claude lazily looked over his shoulder.

“How can I help you, Seteth?” Claude asked casually, bracing himself for yet another speech on improper conduct on church grounds.

“Lady Rhea wishes to speak with you,” Seteth replied, though he was frowning down at Claude and Petra’s interlaced fingers.

Claude frowned. “About what?” he wondered. He had not spoken to the archbishop in months, what could she possibly want with him?

“I didn’t ask,” Seteth said in annoyance. “Just follow me.”

Claude shrugged, then stood up. “Meet you later?” he murmured to Petra. When she smiled and nodded, he turned back to Seteth. “Okay, let’s go.”

Seteth nodded curtly then turned on his heels towards the stairs, walking without looking back to see if Claude had followed. “How has Flayn been doing in your class?” he asked a few minutes later. Claude quickened his pace. He was struggling to keep up with Seteth’s long, quick stride.

“She’s been great,” Claude said. Tempting as it was to jest with Seteth and ruffle his feathers, he would not do so at Flayn’s expense. “Her magic is admirable, and I heard her mention a few days ago that she is looking at taking flying lessons soon.” Seteth tensed at Claude’s words.

“I did not know that. . .” he muttered.

“She’s still just considering it,” Claude said quickly, hoping he didn’t just earn his friend a lecture from her older brother. An idea occurred to him. “I think she liked the thought of it because, well, she said you used to take her flying on your wyvern when she was younger.” He grinned as innocently as possible. “It sounded like a fond memory.”

Seteth seemed to mentally battle the half of him that distrusted Claude and the half that loved his sister. In the end, love won out. Seteth smiled gently. “Well, I’m glad to hear she’s trying new things, I suppose. . .” Claude grinned and nodded in reply. The two men entered Rhea’s audience chamber, where she was standing proudly with that soft, knowing smile she always wore on her face. It unsettled Claude to no end.

“Claude,” she said warmly. “It is good to see you. How have you been faring this month?”

“As well as I can, under the circumstances,” Claude replied honestly. He kept his usual smile on his face. Rhea’s eyes grew sad at his words, regardless. She turned slightly to face Seteth.

“No need to stay if you have other business to attend to. Thank you for finding Claude for me.”

Seteth looked like he was about to protest, but Rhea’s tone was clearly meant as a dismissal. With a stern look on his face, he bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Now that we are alone, I would like to speak with you about your professor.”

Claude’s smile faltered. His whole body felt on alert as his mind suddenly raced to his last conversation alone with Byleth. She had said Rhea experimented on her as a child, or so Jeralt had believed, at least. _Of how little he would have to shift to. . ._ “What about her?” Claude asked, keeping his tone level.

Rhea’s smile faltered. Claude tried to gauge the emotions that flashed across her face ever so briefly before the mask of the archbishop was put on again. Guilt, perhaps? Shame? “She does not wish to speak to me,” Rhea admitted. “She is grieving, and no doubt a part of her blames me for the death of her father, since I am the one who brought him back into service at Garreg Mach.”

Relief that Rhea, in fact, knew nothing washed over Claude. He nodded, pretending to do so sheepishly, as if admitting a secret. If that was what Rhea wanted to think, he would happily let her. There was no telling what she would do if she learned about Jeralt’s diary.

“I know the two of you were close,” Rhea continued. “And it seems as though your relationship with her has been improving.” That put a knot in Claude’s stomach. “I feel as though I am asking much of you, but I just want to know how she is doing. I am concerned for her.”

Claude bit his lower lip, hoping the action would buy him a few seconds to think of an answer. “She is in pain, but she’s strong. She is taking each moment day by day, working hard. I think it’s ultimately improving her mood.”

Rhea smiled again, like a mother who had heard her child was getting high marks in school. Something about that sent shivers down Claude’s spine. “That is good to hear. I think she did well in choosing your house. Any time I see all of you students together, you seem like a family. Having lost my family quite a while back, I must admit I envy that.”

Claude did not point out to her that, until recently, his class “family” had distanced themselves from Byleth. They, too, had only been repairing their relationship with her over the last few weeks. There was no telling how Rhea would react to that news. Or any news, for that matter. Claude had a hard time determining her behavior. She was probably the only person involved in the academy that Claude knew absolutely nothing about. “I am sorry to hear that,” Claude said, almost too formally. 

Rhea’s smile looked pained at his words. “It was a long time ago,” she said in a quiet voice. “No need to dredge up old wounds.” She paused, as if collecting herself. “There is another reason I have called you here. I’m sure you know that I have mobilized the knights in search of Jeralt’s killers. We think we have found them, but are not certain yet. Professor Byleth will likely have mixed emotions about that news, so I figured she should hear it from someone she trusts at the moment.”

Did Byleth trust Claude? The fact that Rhea stated it with such confidence made Claude feel uneasy. After all, he was doing his best not to have any personal moments with Byleth anymore. Not since the diary incident. Not since he had looked at her and thought—

Claude shook the thought out of his head. “Does this mean their apprehension will be our next mission?” Claude asked Rhea. The corners of her mouth tilted downward.

“Absolutely not,” she said. Her tone was soft but stern. “With the mysterious magic they displayed, it would be too risky to send you children out on the battlefield against them.” She tried to smile, but it seemed forced. “I know this may sound patronizing, but let the adults handle this.”

“Some of us are adults,” Claude reminded her. He did not expect to be so bothered, but the fact that he had been there—they all had been there—when Jeralt was killed made Monica’s apprehension feel like the Golden Deer’s responsibility. His fists were clenched as it grew more difficult to act calm and collected. The tendons on his left hand ached, only recently having been freed of the bandages that had held them securely in one position over the last few weeks.

Rhea did not seem to like Claude’s answer. “I will not have you marching out when you are blinded by the need for revenge.” Rhea’s tone went from the polite sternness of a religious figure to the undercurrent rage of someone seeking vengeance herself. That, Claude had not expected. It was easy to forget that despite Jeralt’s mistrust of her towards the end, the two had been friends at some point in their lives. Claude realized that Rhea must be grieving just as much as the rest of them.

“With all due respect, Lady Rhea, this isn’t about revenge.” The look Rhea gave Claude in response to his words warned him of danger, but he pressed onward. “Think about the last several missions that the Golden Deer have had.” Claude mentally worked his way backwards, trying to remember when exactly the madness had all begun. He had to find a way for Rhea to allow them on the mission. _It was just after my attempted assassination_, he realized. “It all began with the Rite of Rebirth, when those men tried to steal the Sword of the Creator.” Rhea visibly tensed at his words. “I have no doubt that they are connected to the men who kidnapped Flayn, then the ones who conducted that goddess-awful experiment in Remire—“ Claude thought of Tomas—or Solon, whatever his name really was—and a bitter taste entered his mouth. “As well as whoever turned your students into beasts at the abandoned chapel. Yes, Teach’s father was murdered by the people involved, but the attack is clearly against the church. The men we captured in the Holy Mausoleum admitted as much, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Rhea admitted, though she looked none too pleased about it.

Emboldened, Claude took a small step forward. “You have already dispatched most of your knights in search of our mysterious enemy.” Rhea raised an eyebrow at the word “our,” but Claude continued. “This has left the monastery vulnerable. What if their plan all along was to weaken the church’s defenses and attack you?”

“And what if their plan is to lure Byleth away from our protection to kill _her_? I could not bear to lose her so shortly after losing her father!”

A vague question tugged at the back of Claude’s mind, one that he had considered before, but never fully processed.

Did Rhea know about Byleth’s abilities?

He dared not ask.

“You were really close with Jeralt,” Claude said instead, which seemed to temper some of Rhea’s anger.

“I was, many years ago,” she sighed. “Did you know he saved my life once?” Rhea paused, then laughed. “What a silly question, no one did. Jeralt was never the one to seek glory or recognition. He just did what he thought was right.” She looked away from Claude. “The least I can do in payment is protect his daughter, no matter the cost.” Claude did not like the tone her voice was taking, nor the way she looked back at Claude. “If I remember correctly, you have a knack for sneaking out when you think no one is watching. I hope you understand that I cannot allow that in these circumstances.” She smiled as Claude’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I know what goes on in my own monastery. Why else do you think you and your professor were never called in to talk about those scandalous rumors? I’m pretty sure the only time you’ve ever done anything. . . questionable in regards to her was when you went into her room a couple of weeks ago. But of course, I trust that nothing happened.” Her smile deepened, and Claude found that he had no quick words to reply to her. “Though I would love to know what story you told her to make her open the door, one day.”

Claude cleared his throat, thinking of all the ways he did _not_ want to reply before he continued. He was being threatened, and he did not like being threatened. “I understand,” he managed to utter.

Rhea looked like she hardly believed that. “Please see that your professor gets my message, that _we_ will be handling the apprehension of her father’s killers. Otherwise, enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Claude.”

Claude grinned forcefully as he bowed to the archbishop and left the room, keeping his pace as casual as he could manage while he was in her sight. The gears in his head were turning. Rhea seemed to be equally oblivious to and all-too-knowing of Claude’s relationship with Byleth. He clenched his fists. The fact that Rhea was aware of the rumors but said nothing, that she knew he had gone into her room. . . Claude feared what other things she may know.

_How little he would have to shift to. . ._

_Stop that_, Claude growled to himself. He had to move on from that thought. It had merely been an observation, nothing more. Of _course_ he did not have feelings for Byleth.

Claude had to focus. Back to Rhea, back to his meeting with her. . . Rhea seemed to thing Claude would be content playing messenger between her and Byleth, but that wasn’t the case. The fact that Rhea was planning a march to find Jeralt’s killers and was keeping Byleth away from it irked him to no end. _And you wonder why she doesn’t want to talk to you, Rhea._ But it wasn’t just that. Rhea _had_ to know that Byleth could turn back time. . .Right? Why else would she be so obsessed with keeping her out of danger now that Jeralt was gone? Especially since Byleth’s theory was right, and the voice in her head was that of the goddess herself. . . Did Rhea want to use Byleth to earn the goddess’s favor?

That last thought made Claude so frustrated that he nearly punched as wall as he passed it.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” someone shouted just down the path. Claude followed the voice into a secluded corner hidden by hedges. Anger flared when he saw Marianne backed into it by a tall brunette. Claude was pulling the guy back by the collar of his shirt with one hand and punching him square in the jaw with the other hand before he realized what he was doing.

“What the fuck!” the guy exclaimed. Blood dripped from his nose down to the blue accents on his jacket. When he saw who had punched him, his eyes narrowed. “This has nothing to do with you,” he seethed.

“Oh, it has everything to do with me,” Claude asserted. His voice was calm, despite the anger inside him. Claude seamlessly positioned himself between the blue lion student and Marianne. To think this guy had the nerve to come onto her and expect no consequences. “You have a problem with any of the Golden Deer, you have a problem with me directly. And if I _ever_ see you come near Marianne again, I will—“

“You would protect her, even though she’s allied with the people who killed Captain Jeralt?!” the guy interrupted. He sneered when Claude had no response for him, pointing an accusatory finger over his shoulder toward Marianne. “Have you ever wondered why she was orphaned, why her adoptive father was so eager to acquire her?” Claude’s hands balled into even tighter fists at the word “acquired,” as if she was an object. The boy continued before Claude could retort, his tone all too confident for a guy who about to get punched in the face a second time. “Have you ever wondered why she never tells anyone what her crest is?”

“Is there a problem here?” a deep voice asked as Claude raised his fist again. They all looked over to find Dimitri approaching. He quickly took in the positions of the three other students, a knowing look on his face when his eyes locked with Claude’s. Claude lowered his hand, taking a step back towards Marianne to give Dimitri room to tower over the blue-clad student. Marianne pressed herself against Claude, head burrowing into his chest as she whimpered. Claude stroked her arm soothingly, but his eyes were on Dimitri. The tall blond leered at the now-cowering student, who at least had the decency to look ashamed in the eyes of his prince. Dimitri’s hands were clenched so hard they were shaking, and with a barely-controlled tone, he asked, “Has Miss von Edmund done something to offend you so extravagantly that you had to assault her?”

The student gulped. His eyes flickered to Claude for an instant, before returning to Dimitri. “Her presence has been tied to that of demonic beasts before,” he quivered. The kid had more balls than Claude anticipated if he was really going to keep this going. “I’m just trying to keep us all safe.”

“The death of her parents was tragic. But please, tell me how blaming her for surviving is keeping anyone safe.” If it was possible, his voice got deeper. “I was unaware that your father had raised a witch-hunter,” Dimitri growled. “You should be ashamed at your lack of honor.” The other student gulped again. He had no response this time, as his lips moved incoherently. Dimitri straightened, fist raised, and Claude almost felt bad for the kid. Almost.

“Dima,” Marianne whispered. The muscles in Dimitri’s back tensed at her voice. Unable to see his face, Claude could not determine how exactly he had been affected.

“Go see to Manuela about your broken nose,” Dimitri whispered. “Tell her you ran into the wall.”

“Yes, Prince Dimitri,” the blue lion said. He bowed awkwardly then fled up the stairs. Dimitri was already turning to Marianne, who flung herself into his arms. Claude took a step back, letting the couple comfort each other with some semblance of privacy. He looked around to make sure they did not have an audience, but the bushes they were standing behind kept them fairly hidden. Claude knew their relationship was still more or less private. Content with the lack of passerby, Claude turned back to Marianne and Dimitri. The latter was watching him with fire in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Dimitri said, a low rumble in his throat that sounded very much like a lion ready to roar. Claude nodded.

“I protect my deer,” he said in reply, not sure what else he could add. It didn’t quite seem like the right time to say anything about their romance and keeping it secret. The fact that they were embracing in front of him told Claude that Dimitri already knew he was aware of the extent of their relationship. When Dimitri nodded, Claude took it as a dismissal and turned back towards his original path, leaving Marianne safely in the arms of her lover. He would have to find the blue lions student later to find out exactly hat he had meant in trying to tie Marianne with the demonic beasts. His protection extended far deeper into the shadows than his friends would ever know.

Claude made his way back onto the path, heading towards his original destination. He _did_ intend on delivering Rhea’s message, but there was another stop he wanted to make first. He just hoped the woman he was looking for would be where he expected. . .

Shamir raised her bow, taking aim at the practice dummy several paces away. Claude called her name, pulling her focus right as she let an arrow loose.

“Dammit,” Shamir muttered, her arrow hitting the wall just to the left of the dummy’s head. She looked back at Claude in annoyance, setting down her bow. “Long time no see, Claude. How’s your eye?”

“Just about perfect, thanks to your help,” Claude replied with an easygoing grin. Shamir did not smile back.

“No.”

“You don’t even know why I’m here!”

“But I have a feeling you’re going to ask me to do something against the rules,” Shamir said. “I’ve learned to recognize that look on your face.” Claude shrugged.

“And here I thought you weren’t so into all of the church’s rules and regulations,” he teased. Shamir seemed unamused. After several moments of Claude not budging, keeping that impish smile on his face, she groaned dramatically.

“What do you want?”

“I heard Rhea’s knights are close to finding Jeralt’s killer.”

Shamir scoffed. “I should have known.”

“She wants me to tell Teach, but wouldn’t disclose where they’re hiding.”

“Technically the knights aren’t confident that they know the location, either,” Shamir told him. Her eyes narrowed. “And I shouldn’t even be telling you that.”

“Aha! So you _do_ know where the killers are hiding!” Claude beamed. Shamir muttered a string of curse words to herself. “C’mon!” Claude said. He was laying the charm on thick. For as tough as Shamir acted, Claude had learned in his recovery period with her that she was a bit of a sucker for his trouble-making antics. He was banking on that being enough to learn where to find Monica. Claude had an arrow with her name on it.

Shamir smirked and rolled her eyes. “Why do you want to know?” Shamir asked.

That was enough of a budge for Claude to squeeze in. “Teach’s father was killed,” he said with a more serious tone. “I want to help her find closure. I think knowing where Jeralt’s killer is will help.”

“So, you’re trying to say that this _isn’t_ an attempt to sneak out of the monastery, behind Rhea’s back, to help Byleth seek revenge?”

“Who would do something so foolish?” Claude asked, knowing very well that the answer was himself.

Shamir seemed to read his mind, as she raised an eyebrow at him. Claude widened his grin, and she laughed. “Ever heard of the Sealed Forest?” Shamir asked. She picked up her bow and notched an arrow. “It’s not too far away from here,” she continued after releasing it. The arrow burrowed itself into the head of the dummy.

“I’m familiar with the place,” Claude said, which was an understatement. When he first enrolled in the academy, he had spent a good couple of days wandering the grounds and the lands just outside it in search of anything interesting. The Sealed Forest was a particular piece of intrigue, given the implication in the name. Claude had been disappointed to find nothing more than a regular, old, boring, foggy lump of trees.

“Rumor has it a band of miscreants has been hiding out there lately,” Shamir continued. She readied another arrow. “One of them is described as a girl with red hair.” Her second arrow hit the dummy in the chest, and Claude sympathized with its pain.

“Monica,” he said flatly.

“Like I said, we aren’t certain. It could be a coincidence,” Shamir reminded him. She lowered her bow and turned to face him. “You won’t have the backup of the knights, or the advantage of knowing the lands ahead of time like you usually do on missions. You really should back down.”

“I already told you, only a moron would go off on their own to seek vengeance from their foes.” _Which is why I intend on bringing friends._

“Well, you were a fool if I ever met one. Don’t I recall you marching into your attacker’s room in the middle of the night to face him on your own?” She shook her head as Claude glared at her. “That was insensitive of me.”

“A little,” Claude admitted. Shamir sighed.

“Well, if a fool were to go into the Sealed Forest, I would like to know ahead of time so I can help them out if necessary.” Shamir turned back to her target dummies. “Though I would rather said fool would mind his own damned business and stick to reading like he used to.”

“I’ll be sure to pass the message along to the next fool I meet,” Claude assured her. “Enjoy your target practice, I have an errand to run for Lady Rhea.”

Shamir grunted in reply, a slight smirk on her face.

Claude headed for the Golden Deer classroom. He could always find Byleth there now. Ever since she found her father’s diary, she seemed to throw herself in her work. It was convenient for Claude. He didn’t want to be anywhere alone with her anymore, and the classroom was as public as the monastery got.

Leonie was sitting on Byleth’s desk, whispering quietly with their professor. They had clearly both been crying. Claude inched his way back toward the door, not wanting to disrupt them, when Leonie caught sight of him. She jumped off the desk, furiously wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You can come in,” she called to him. “I was just leaving.”

“No, no. Don’t leave,” Claude said quickly. When Byleth gave him in inquisitive look, he added, “This sort of involves you, too.” He took a deep breath as he approached the desk, four large eyes watching him. “I just had a meeting with Lady Rhea.” Leonie looked confused at his words, and Byleth visibly tensed. “Her knights are trying to find the people who k—“ he cleared his throat. “Who are behind Jeralt‘s death.” Both women leaned forward. “She thinks they may have been found.”

“Where,” Byleth said flatly. Her hand gripped the hilt of the sword at her side. She always carried the Sword of the Creator with her now.

“She wouldn’t tell me,” Claude answered. “I think she was hoping you would talk to her about it first.” He let Byleth read between the lines of his words, since Leonie likely didn’t know that Byleth was refusing to talk with the archbishop at the moment.

Leonie’s brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t we also be heading out to apprehend them, though?” she demanded. “Before they have the opportunity to slip out of our grasp again?!”

“Rhea doesn’t want us going on the mission.”

“Bullshit!” Leonie exclaimed. “I won’t sit on the sidelines helplessly while that bitch Monica walks free!” She turned away from him, silently fuming. Byleth rested her hands on her desk, exhibiting an unnerving amount of calm.

“I never said that we weren’t going. Just that we would not have Rhea’s permission to go.” Claude tried to keep his tone level. “I have a source who strongly believes they know where Rhea’s knights are heading. It’s called the Sealed Forest, and it isn’t too far away from here,” Claude told her. “We have a problem, though. When Rhea told me she would not let us go on the mission, she strongly ‘suggested’ she has eyes watching us to make sure we don’t sneak away. We’ll need to get creative.”

“Good thing you’re clever. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Byleth told him. She smiled, and Claude weakly returned the gesture.

“If not, I have an idea or two,” a voice said behind him. Edelgard was standing by the door, a sly grin on her face. How long had she been standing there? “Apologies for intruding, Professor,” she continued, stepping closer into the room. “But please, let me help you. My house’s mission has already been taken care of, and I would love nothing more than to take down the people who have taken your family away from you.” She looked down sheepishly. “It’s the least I can do.”

Byleth rose from her chair and approached Edelgard. “This mission might be dangerous,” she said. She looked back at her two students. “For all of you. I can’t guarantee your protection without the knights of Seiros backing us up. And. . .” Byleth paused, looking Claude intently in the eye. “I fear my hands may not have healed completely. I’m more useless than usual.”

Claude knew what she was saying. She wasn’t sure if she was able to rewind time again. Well, that at least confirmed Claude’s theory that some aspect of her power required the physical motion. He frowned at the thought. Perhaps the pale man who had stopped them from saving Jeralt knew that too, and that was why he broke Claude’s hand. That would not explain the breaking of Byleth’s hands though, unless it was merely to keep her from wielding her relic. _More questions, more questions. . ._

“I think I speak for all of us,” Claude began, not breaking eye contact with his professor. “When I say we will follow you whatever you choose, Teach. The rest of the Golden Deer, as well.” _Be it by guilt or loyalty._

“We have faith in you,” Edelgard chimed in. “Even those of us who are not fortunate enough to be your students. I want to fight with you.”

Byleth looked back at her. “Then I would appreciate nothing more,” Byleth began, and Edelgard looked at her like she had just given her the world on a golden platter. “But this could get you in trouble—“

“I know,” Edelgard cut her off quickly. “I do not make this choice lightly.”

Byleth smiled at her grimly as she nodded her head. “Then what do you have in mind for sneaking out of here?”

As it turned out, Byleth’s friendship with Alastair was an advantageous one. As the gatekeeper, it was his job to make note of everyone who came and left the monastery by name, then report it to Seteth at the end of the day. But for Byleth—and Jeralt—he happened to overlook the name of every Golden Deer student who left the next morning with the various townsfolk and merchants. Of which there were many, seeing as it was at the end of the trading season. Who could possibly keep track of them all?

Edelgard and Dimitri were also among the students who snuck out. Why Dimitri was joining them was beyond Claude’s understanding. Marianne swore she had nothing to do with it, but it was always possible that Dimitri wanted to protect her after the incident the other day. It was also perfectly possible that he did not want to be upstaged by Edelgard, as well.

When they were out of the gates, the group separated from the merchants one by one to find the clearing where Claude had celebrated his birthday so many months earlier. Edelgard saw to it that one of her classmates had stashed enough horses there for the group beforehand. After all, they were not the ones being watched by Rhea. Claude and Byleth walked together at the front of the procession, wanting to make sure everything was indeed ready for them so they could leave without hesitation. They reached the clearing, and Claude halted when he saw Rhea standing there, petting the nose of one of the horses.

“Your determination is admirable,” Rhea began, not looking away from the shaggy mare. Seteth and Shamir stepped out from behind her, a harsh look on their faces. “But futile. It seems you didn’t heed my warning.”

Claude clenched his fists as Rhea smiled back and forth between the pair. He heard footsteps behind them come to an abrupt stop, followed by Hilda’s distinctive voice exclaiming “Shit!” She must have been with Flayn, because Seteth’s face went a shocking shade of red.

“You can’t stop us from going,” Byleth told her, which brought pain to Rhea’s expression.

“I should have you punished,” Rhea sighed. She did not seem to like the thought, but that only made Claude more wary. “However, I have been giving some thought to your proposition, Claude. I believe you are right, I cannot leave the monastery unguarded and put the lives of everyone who works and resides there at risk. No matter the reason.” She smiled up at Byleth warmly. “The goddess is on your side, so I suppose you cannot fail. I only pray that you make it back quickly and safely.”

_She’s trying to save face_, Claude realized. _Rhea wants it to look like she’s still in control_. And it was working. As the other students filed in, Rhea approached each of them and prayed a quick blessing or prayer of protection over them. She saved Claude for last. Whenit was his turn, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Protect her, no matter the cost,” and Claude knew he would surely pay if he came back without Byleth in one piece.

“You can count on it,” Claude promised her. Rhea smiled at his words and pat his check, her finger trailing over the scar on his jaw. Claude forced his hands not to clench. Wordlessly, Rhea turned back towards the monastery. Seteth kissed Flayn on the forehead, then whispered something to Byleth, before following the archbishop out of the clearing. Shamir stayed behind with the group. Everyone stood around for a few seconds, unsure what to do, before Byleth spoke up.

“Get on your horses. We have no time to waste.”

Then, the students scrambled. Claude wondered how Shamir was going to manage, but it seemed she must have brought her own horse with her. “You ratted us out,” Claude accused, bringing his own horse beside her.

“No I didn’t,” Shamir said, keeping her voice low. “Rhea already knew. She approached me to ask for my help stopping you. I was the one who convinced her you were like a charging wyvern that couldn’t be stopped.” She smirked as Claude chuckled. “I _am_ a little offended that you didn’t tell me when you were leaving. I said I would help.”

“I thought you were being facetious.”

Shamir shrugged. “I thought so, too. But honestly, I’ve missed too much of the action this year. It’s time I finally saw what the mysterious, relic-wielding professor was capable of. This seems like a good opportunity.”

Claude smirked back at her. “Let’s hope so.”

The fog thickened as they approached the forest. Claude’s heart pounded, recalling the mission against Lord Lonato so many months back. The fog was not as dense this time, thank the gods, but it still unsettled his stomach.

“Are you ready?” Byleth asked him, bringing her horse up alongside his. Claude did his best to grin confidently.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. I pray that is enough.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious sort,” Byleth teased. Claude looked at her, and she seemed to be hiding some nerves as well. Her hands gripped reins a little too tightly, and the crinkling of her eyes was strained. 

“Well, I’ve had some events occur in my life that have made me a bit of a believer.” He looked down and noticed that she was still wearing the golden bangle. That ball of guilt hit his gut again. He cleared his throat, then urged his horse to move a little faster.

The air grew more tense the closer they got to the center of the forest, but at least the fog thinned. Claude remembered there being a small clearing, where an old stone floor marked the ruins of what he assumed was a temple. Chances were high that Monica was hiding out there.

At the base of the hill where the ruins rested, Claude began to hear a low growling noise. He looked to Byleth, who nodded to confirm that she heard it, too. She signaled to the group, and everyone halted, then dismounted from their horses. Claude and Edelgard were among the first ready for battle. He motioned for her to follow him, and they crept ahead of the group, axes in hand. The noise had been coming from a pair of demonic beasts, flanking either side of the clearing that surrounded the ruins. They were pacing back and forth in an agitated manner, snapping at the human soldiers who guarded them, as if waiting for carnage was too unbearable. Claude frowned. _What sort of people would willingly allow themselves to work with anyone that created such monsters. . ._

“Hi!” A voice suddenly called out. “I’m so glad that you were finally able to make it out here to see me!” Edelgard and Claude looked up at the singular figure standing atop the ruins. Even from a distance, Monica looked all too pleased with herself. “Though I did not expect to see you among the riffraff, Edel. I thought we were friends!”

“Monica!” Claude growled, his voice calling the attention of the enemy soldiers and the beasts at their sides. Edelgard cursed under her breath. She gripped her axe tighter.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s right,” Monica sighed, looking down at them. “You still think I’m that poor girl who went missing last year.” She made a pouting noise, then giggled. Claude sneered at her. What weird, sick game was she playing, trying to distract them by claiming to have another identity? At that point, more of the Golden Deer were approaching, weapons facing the large black monsters that were stalking towards them. Byleth was among them. She stepped in front of Claude, her stance protective. That flared up something in him. She was supposed to be everyone’s protector, not just his—

“And you brought the professor!” Monica—or. . . Not Monica?—cooed, clasping her hands together excitedly. “Killing Daddy wasn’t enough for you, now you want to die yourself?”

Byleth snarled, unsheathing the Sword of the Creator. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Teach,” Claude whispered warningly. The beasts were much closer now, only half the distance away that they had been.

Monica shrugged lazily at Byleth. “You can certainly try, sweetie,” she said. With a wave of her hand, her appearance changed. She grew paler, and her hair went from a rich red to a sickly orange. Her school uniform was replaced with black armor. “But my bite is bigger than my bark.”

The beasts began charging in earnest at Monica’s words, almost as if it were a signal. Claude barely had time to raise his axe before the one on his left came at him with teeth bared. Claude grunted, the edges of his axe holding its jaws open. Still, the creature was large enough to push him backwards. He would not escape this hold any time soon. “Edie!” Claude shouted. “Protect Teach!”

“I’m on it!” Edelgard shouted in return. It was taking everything in Claude’s power to keep the glistening white teeth in front of his face from closing in on him. Someone must have struck the beast’s side, as it lulled to its left suddenly, then pulled away from Claude at last. He stumbled, nearly falling from the sudden lack of weight pushing him backwards. The beast was facing away from him now, its paw swiping at Dimitri. He dodged the attack, grunting as he forced his lance upward into the creature’s neck. It yowled in pain. Sylvain was by his prince’s side, using his own lance to push the monster back if it tried to step closer. Behind him, Shamir, Hilda, and Marianne were fighting off the men who accompanied the beast. The rest of their group must have been fighting off the other beast,that or helping Byleth reach Monica at the top of the ruins.

That was where Claude wanted to be. Even with how stupid he knew that must make him, he still though of himself as Byleth’s protector now that Jeralt was gone. But that was nothing to dwell on. Not yet. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

While the beast was still facing Dimitri and Sylvain, Claude leapt onto its back and drove his axe into its spine. In response, the beast made an eerie cry, shaking violently side to side to get Claude off it’s back. Claude held onto the handle of the axe stuck in it’s back as if his life depended on it, which it surely did. When the beast’s shakes slowed into a sway, Claude used his foot as leverage to drive the blade of the axe in deeper. It finally must have hit the monster’s nerves, as it buckled under its own weight and collapsed to the ground.

Confident that the others could handle the remaining enemies, Claude sped towards the ruins. He still had an arrow with Monica’s name on it. If anything, he needed to take care of that. Edelgard and Byleth were already at the clearing, with Linhardt, Flayn and Leonie on their heels. Claude’s lungs felt like they were on fire as he pushed himself to catch up. He was going to kill Monica. _He_ was going to kill her.

“Don’t wear yourself out!” Monica taunted. Claude’s vision went red. He shook his head, he had to focus. He was getting closer now.

Edelgard reached Monica first, swinging her axe with a grunt. Monica leapt ten feet into the air to dodge the attack. Claude halted, his jaw hanging low. No human could _possibly_ accomplish such a feat. Not in their wildest dreams. 

When her feet lightly touched the ground, Monica dodged another swing of Edelgard’s axe with inhuman speed. With a sneer, she charged the girl that she used to call her friend. Claude heard a crack, then a cry, then Edelgard fell. “Help her!” Byleth commanded, stepping between the princess and her attacker. Claude grunted, resisting the urge to argue. He had to have Byleth’s back, but the other three students were just as frozen in shock as Claude had been seconds earlier, and Claude knew he was Edelgard’s best chance at survival. He dove forward, kneeling right behind Edelgard’s panting form. 

“My leg,” she whimpered. “She broke it.”

Sure enough, the princess’s calf was bent the wrong way. Claude’s stomach lurched at the sight of it. He wished Byleth would use her powers to keep this from ever happening. But that was not in the cards that day. He would have to get Edelgard away from the fighting. Just beyond them, Byleth was swinging the Sword of the Creator furiously at Monica with increasing speed. Any time the orange-haired woman would try to pass by Byleth and get to the two students, Byleth would thrust out her blade to pull her attention back away from them. 

“C’mon, I got you,” Claude grunted. He looped his arms under Edelgard’s armpits and gently led her out of the stone courtyard. Linhardt quickly met them, his hand already giving off the soft white glow of healing magic. “It’s the right leg,” Claude told him. 

“No shit,” Linhardt muttered. “Lower her to the ground. I need to check for other injuries.” Edelgard grunted as Claude did what he was told. 

“Thank you,” Edelgard whispered to her old classmate. Linhardt merely nodded in reply. 

“Anything for my princess,” he uttered absently. Edelgard smiled, though he wasn’t looking up at her.

The clashing of weapons drew Claude’s attention to the ruins once more. Byleth had disarmed Monica, it appeared, save for a small knife. Monica was scrambling away, then she bumped into a figure that had not previously been standing there. A mixture of confusion and fear and anger gripped Claude as he looked upon the face of Solon.

“You’re here!” Monica gasped, sounding relieved. “Don’t just stand there and stare! I need your help.” Her countenance shifted as Solon grasped her by the chest, his claw-like fingernails digging into her skin and raising her into the air. “What are you—“ she choked.

“I’m taking care of two vermin at once,” Solon growled, a wicked sneer on his face. He tightened his hold, and pulled Monica’s heart out of her chest. He began chanting a spell as Claude watched on in fear. Weren’t they on the same side? Why would Solon kill her? The older man crushed the heart in his hands, and a purple-and-black smoke emitted from it, spreading out to the four pillared corners of the ruins. The remainder of Monica’s body disintegrated into hundreds of black particles. When Byleth ran towards Solon, sword raised, the smoke dispersed into the entirety of the courtyard, creating a black barrier around the rectangular area and trapping her inside. It wrapped around Byleth in dark tendrils, seeming to hold her in place.

“Teach!” Claude called to her. He started to stand when Edelgard grabbed him by the armor and forced him back downward.

“No!” she hissed. Then, in a more helpless tone. “That is black magic. If you get any closer, you might get trapped inside as well.” Her voice was quivering, Claude realized, with the fear of someone who knew exactly what was going to happen next.

The smoke grew thicker and thicker until Claude could barely make out Byleth’s silhouette in the middle of it. A single tear fell down Claude’s face as he watched her disappear before his eyes. As quickly as the smoke appeared, it was gone again.

And so was she.

“It’s a damn shame,” Solon cursed to himself. “That we were unable to retrieve the Sword of the Creator, but these are the sacrifices that must be made in war.”

Claude looked towards him with gritted teeth. Byleth couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t be— “Bastard!” he shouted. “What did you do?!”

Solon looked up at him, as if he did not realize there had been other people around until that moment. When he met eyes with Claude, he chuckled darkly. “You do seem to have a penchant for trouble, boy,” Solon called to him. Claude only seethed in reply. “I almost regret that it will spell out not only your death, but the death of your friends today.” He took a step forward, and Edelgard gripped onto Claude tighter. “Pity. We could have really used you. . .”

Flayn suddenly stepped forward, her hands up defensively, which seemed to amuse Solon greatly. “Haven’t you already caused enough suffering?” the small girl demanded. Claude was surprised to note that she was not shaking. “Was experimenting on me, taking my blood. . . Was that not enough for you?”

Solon’s wicked grin grew wider. He licked his lips with anticipation as he stepped closer once again. “Hardly,” he admitted. “Your friends’ day shall end in death, but I fear I have much worse planned for you. Thank you for making kidnapping you easier this time by presenting yourself to me so willingly. . .”

Claude wrestled himself out of Edelgard’s grasp and readied his axe. “You all needs to leave,” he hissed. He did not expect to win, but he would not go down without a fight. That had never been his style. If he was lucky, maybe some of his friends would be able to escape. Keeping them safe was all he wanted.

It would be all that Byleth would have wanted. . .

A beam of light shone in the sky, distracting Solon. The students all looked upon it as well, both in fear and wonder. Claude could not help but think that it

Was

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Claude gasped, suddenly finding it difficult to pull air into his lungs. He lunged over, catching himself on his knees, before he could look around again.

Everyone was frozen.

Solon, Hilda, Marianne, Sylvain. . . All of them. There was no wind in the trees nor birds in the air to make a sound. As far as Claude could tell, the only things moving were him, and the beam of light still pulsating in the sky.

“I don’t have much time,” a girl’s voice said. Claude looked toward it, and found himself face-to-face with a green-haired girl clad in navy blue robes and gold ornaments, her hair braided on either side with ribbons and her eyes holding the secrets of the universe. “I am going to merge my being with that of your professor in order to save her life, so I will never get this chance to speak with you again. Byleth is wonderful, but she is hardly one to pass along a message when I ask it of her.” She rolled her eyes. “I already tried that at the Goddess Tower.”

Claude smirked down at the girl. “I take it you’re Sothis, then. To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you going to gift me with one of your powers?” Claude had not meant to say that, certainly not so casually.

Sothis smirked back, her chin raised at him. “I see your arrogance extends even to the gods. Luckily for you, I like that. I’ve always had a soft spot for men and women who sought to change their fate.”

“Is that why you gave me the ability to remember when Byleth turned back time?” Claude asked. He couldn’t even call Byleth “Teach”? Why was he blurting out everything that came to his mind?! In the presence of the goddess, it was as if Claude could not resist being frank. He doubted it was his own “arrogance” as Sothis called it so much as being face to face with her compelled his honesty. He felt as though he should be terrified, but found that he had no fear in her presence. If anything, he felt. . . safe. Speaking with a goddess, of all beings!

Sothis tilted her head, a slight frown on her face. “No,” she said slowly. “I actually was hoping you could give me some insight on that, while I am here.” She walked closer to Claude and touched his face with her hand. “I have existed across many ages and countless lifetimes, and I have never met anyone who could remember two timelines at once. And the fact that there may also exist another. . .” She withdrew her hand, her fingertips gently brushing against his scar and lingering there. “Perhaps it is not to do with me, but with her.”

“You mean Byleth?” Claude asked, and Sothis gave him a knowing smile. Her eyes seemed to take in his whole life at a single glance.

“Your life was tied to hers the moment she chose to teach your class. I’m afraid I cannot say more than that.”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

Sothis scoffed. “You have no room to accuse anyone of having trust issues.”

Even with his compulsive honesty, Claude found he had nothing to say in response to that.

“It is not a manner of trust,” Sothis told him simply. “You have endured much, and I am sure you have done what you felt was necessary to protect yourself.” She sighed, tapping a finger to her chin. “I love Byleth. I have shared a mind with her for as long as I can remember. When I tell you that she would move the earth to keep you out of harm’s way, you don’t even know the half of it.” A tear fell down Claude’s face. “I’m not sure how, in such a short amount of time, I could make you understand the bond between the two of you.”

“At least help me _try_ to understand,” Claude pleaded. He did not know when he had ended up kneeling before her. “I want nothing more than to understand the ties between Byleth and I. I want to understand why I can’t stop thinking about her, why I want nothing more in the world than to have her safe and happy.” Was this truly what he wanted? It must be, if he was saying it to the goddess. Funny, that Claude had never articulated the thought, even to himself. “Why does this plague me, and why do I feel like my very presence brings the opposite of what I want for her?”

Sothis blinked. “You do not know?”

“Do not know what?”

Sothis sighed. “I have seen your life, both in and out of Byleth’s eyes. Claude, son of Riegan, heir of two nations and adopter of a Fódlan name. You are incredibly clever when you want to be, but. . .” She approached him, the gold ornaments that adorned her clinking softly together. The light in the sky was growing brighter, framing Sothis like a halo. Claude’s eyes burned from the strain of looking up at her. She knelt down, placing a hand on Claude’s chest. Claude could feel his heart pounding furiously against the slender palm. Gods, it was so hard to breathe. “You have put a lock here,” she said. “So afraid to love and trust, that you refuse to let anyone in. It will be impossible to find the answers you seek with the lock still secured.”

“No hints on how to unlock it, then?” Claude asked. And Sothis laughed again at how brash his mannerisms were. It wasn’t like Claude could help it. . . “You said you have a message for me?”

Sothis’s expression strained. “Do you know why they call me The Beginning?” Sothis asked.

Claude grinned at her, though he could not tell why. “I can’t say that I do,” he admitted.

“Because I could stop the world in its track as I am doing now, turn back time until there was nothing left, start the world over from scratch, and witness all of creation over and over. . . But I can never look forward, son of Riegan. For how many ways I have seen time begin, I have never seen how it will end.” Sothis paused, looking up at the light. It seemed to still be growing in size, though ever so slowly. The goddess appeared worried at it, for some reason. “I cannot say what the future holds for you, but I have seen enough of the lives of men to be able to predict some things.” She faltered, pressing her palm to her forehead as Byleth so often did when speaking of the goddess. “I am fading. . .” she murmured.

“Then, please. Tell me your prediction,” Claude pleaded. “I will do anything to find the answers that I seek.”

She smiled once more, the gesture barely visible. Little more than a crinkling of the eyes. It reminded Claude so much of when he first met Byleth. “You have much to learn, and quite a bit of growing up to do. But you care about people. In time, you will be a great ruler, one who does not use his power for selfish means.” She stood up, and wavered from the effort. “I was Fódlan’s Beginning, but I believe that by Byleth’s side, you will be its End.” Sothis’s image faded, like mist in the dawn. “Please take care of Byleth. I will no longer be there to guide her. Now, I will take my rest. . .”

Claude blinked, and she was gone.

A beam of light shone in the sky, distracting Solon. The students all looked upon it as well, both in fear and wonder. Claude could not help but think that it was rather beautiful. From the light, a woman leapt down onto the ground between Solon and the students. She had pale green hair, and green eyes that flashed in determination and anger. The Sword of the Creator was gripped in her hands, ready to taste the blood of her enemies.

When she looked at Claude, he immediately recognized her face.

“Teach?” he asked incredulously.

Byleth didn’t respond, her eyes fixating on Solon instead. She gripped the hilt of her sword tighter, and a flash of fear crossed Solon’s face. He raised his hands, as if to summon another spell, but Byleth was chest to chest with him in an instant, her blade cutting through the old man’s abdomen. Solon grunted, collapsing slowly. He looked up at Byleth with rage. “Impossible,” he gasped. “You could not possibly be..” His eyes glazed over as life left him. 

Removing her sword, Byleth stepped away from him and turned to face her growing audience as they ran to her aid. But it was not needed. The fighting was. . . done. For all intents and purposes. Byleth had slain Solon. The forest was now quiet. 

“Shit,” Shamir gasped, stepping towards the professor. “What happened to you?”

Byleth’s air of determination slipped as she swayed, her hand loosening it’s grip on the hilt of her sword. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I was surrounded by darkness, and then..” Her legs buckled as she collapsed. Leonie rushed to catch her, tossing her lance aside. 

“Professor? Professor!” Leonie shouted, shaking the green-haired woman’s shoulders. _Green-haired_. The rest of the group tried rushing forward. 

“Stay back!” Claude commanded, and to his surprise, everyone listened. Even Shamir and the two other house leaders. Claude walked forward, all eyes on him. Leonie remained kneeling beside Byleth, her eyes watering. She pressed her palm against Byleth’s chest. 

“I can’t make out a heartbeat!” Leonie gasped. She started to hyperventilate. 

“Relax,” Claude said, as casually as he could manage. “She must have fainted from the exertion of. . . whatever just happened. Her heart rate must have lowered because she’s unconscious.” Luckily, nobody seemed to know enough about anatomy to question his explanation. A confident voice was all one needed for deception, sometimes. He knelt beside Leonie, pressing two of his fingers against Byleth’s neck to check for a pulse. He resisted the urge to sigh with relief when he felt it. She was not dead, after all. “Here,” he said to Leonie, taking her hand. “You can feel her pulse. She’s fine, she just needs air and rest.” Leonie, on the other hand, did sigh loudly at the feeling of Byleth’s pulse. The air around the group collectively grew less tense, as well. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this battle was anticlimactic?” Hilda wondered. 

Lorenz scoffed dramatically. “Our professor was just sucked into a dark void, then leapt out of a light in the middle of the sky mere moments later with different colored hair and eyes, and you call that _anticlimactic_?!”

“I was talking about the lack of a big battle with the creepy ex-librarian,” Hilda muttered, arms crossed. “But go off, I guess.”

“Lorenz, Hilda. . . children, stop!” Claude pleaded. “Can we deal with the issue at hand?” The pair both flushed, avoiding looking at each other. Satisfied enough, Claude turned back towards Byleth. _Think, Claude._ The simplest answer would be to carry her back onto her horse and guide it to the monastery. Of course, in doing so, he would have to travel slower than the rest of the group. And that. . . That would not do. Claude couldn’t be alone with her.

“Dimitri,” Claude called. “Can you carry Teach back to her horse?”

“Of course,” Dimitri said, stepping forward. He scooped Byleth delicately in his arms. Claude could not look away from the pale green hair that draped over his arm from her head. Nobody could. Claude realized Sothis had the exact same shade of hair.

“What do you think happened to her?” Leonie whispered.

“I think that’s a question for her,” Claude replied. Like so many other things in Byleth’s life, her merging with the goddess was not his secret to tell. How would he even begin to explain it to his peers without telling them of his own vision with Sothis? One that he himself would have passed off as a hallucination were it not for Byleth’s change in appearance. Sharing it with the group was not in the cards for the moment. “We need a team that is willing to ride slower to watch Teach while she is unconscious. The rest of us will ride ahead to tell the archbishop what happened.”

“You’re not on Team Teach?” Hilda asked.

“I was close by when Solon forced her into the void. Lady Rhea will want an accurate report. So it should come from me.”

Hilda raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“I’ll stay with the professor,” Edelgard offered. “My leg is still sore even after the healing. So I won’t be able to ride fast.”

“I’ll stay with my princess,” Caspar offered eagerly.

“I’ll go back and nap,” Linhardt muttered. The bags under his eyes managed to look darker than usual.

In that manner, the group split into two: half to protect Byleth, and half to report to Rhea. Hilda rode up beside Claude as he untied the reins of his horse from the branch he tied it on. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll keep Team Teach in check,” she teased. Claude did his best to smile at her, but it was half-hearted. “You know what happened to her,” Hilda said. It wasn’t a question.

Claude shrugged.

“Claude?”

“Rhea will be worried if we don’t get back soon,” Claude muttered. He slung his leg over the horse’s back and charged it forward.

He did not check if the rest of the group was following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to be making a lot of typos lately, so please don’t hesitate to tell me if you catch something that needs to be fixed!
> 
> On a completely personal note, my birthday was on Friday! (Same as Byleth’s, oh wow, how did that happen. . .) So I would not be mad if anyone wanted to wish me a belated happy birthday ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude finds himself backed against a wall, literally and figuratively.

When Claude reached the gates of Garreg Mach, Cyril was pacing back and forth at the entrance. Strange. Claude had never seen the little go-getter do anything but chores. The boy’s face lit up when he recognized Claude. “Shamir wouldn’t let me go with you guys!” he exclaimed, following Claude as he led his horse to the stables. “She said the mission was too dangerous. Where is she? Did Shamir get hurt?!” His eyes widened. “Or Lysithea?”

“She’s fine,” Claude assured him. “They both are. Shamir and the rest of the group should be right behind me.” He paused for a moment, looking down at the younger boy. “Could you do me a favor and find Lady Rhea for me? I need to speak with her about something important.”

Cyril gave Claude a determined look then sped off wordlessly. Claude took his time unsaddling his horse. No doubt Rhea would greet him the second Cyril told her they had returned. Or bite his head off when she learned that Byleth had fallen unconscious. As archbishops did, of course. Either way, there was no sense in rushing to that moment.

“Mister von Riegan,” Seteth called. His eyes were filled with worry as he approached the younger man. “Where is Flayn?”

Claude had to stop and think. He had not paid much attention to who went with which group. “She’s riding back with Teach,” he replied, once his memory came back to him.

“Who is where, exactly?” Seteth demanded. “It is not like your professor to ride in the back of the group.”

“I promise I’ll explain as soon as the archbishop gets here.”

Seteth’s face dropped. “Did something happen?” he asked, his voice low.

“No—yes. It’s hard to explain. She—“ Claude halted as he saw Cyril return with Rhea close behind. The archbishop had a guarded look in her eyes.

“Cyril says you wish to speak with me,” she began. She paused briefly to turn to Cyril. “Thank you for bringing me here, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“I’m going back to wait for Shamir,” Cyril muttered, stalking back towards the front gate. Rhea smiled at him as he left, but her face quickly shifted when she looked to Claude again.

“Where is your professor?” she inquired.

Claude took a deep breath, then proceeded to tell the archbishop and her right-hand man a simplified version of what he had witnessed that morning. He was careful to not mention any personal insight he had on the matter, and he completely left out the matter of his meeting with the goddess. It was personal, after all. There was a pause when the first half of their group rode in together, as everyone wanted to give their piece of the story to Rhea. Too much of the story, in Claude’s opinion. Claude inevitably had to shush them like children to get a word in again. “Teach should be fine,” he finally finished. “I think she just may need some rest.”

“Indeed,” Seteth agreed, his eyes wide with disbelief at Claude’s story. Rhea, on the other hand, looked more calculating. While Claude’s report may have surprised her in some regard, nothing he said seemed to rattle her completely. If anything she looked. . . excited. Claude recalled the passage from Jeralt’s diary that Byleth had recited for him, where he had written that he suspected Rhea of doing something to Byleth as a baby. Perhaps Rhea had been waiting for something like this to happen. . . Perhaps the professor’s connection to the goddess was less divine intervention and more, well, Rhea intervention.

A clamor arose from the front gate. Claude suspected it was from the second half of the group returning with Byleth. Moments later, Dimitri rode into the stables with a limp Byleth seated in front of him on the saddle, one arm around her. “It was taking too long without having a hold on her,” he said like an apology. Seteth rushed over to help lower Byleth from the horse so Dimitri could dismount. The fact that she was still unconscious worried Claude. It would not do if she remained in this state for an extended period of time. Claude absently wondered what the power-to-sleep ratio was when one could wield the gifts of a goddess. After all, he had seen her faint from exertion before.

But not like this.

At least Rhea was not angry with him. No, she was too fixated on Byleth for that. With eyes wide and hands outstretched, Rhea gently stroked Byleth’s pale green hair.

“Should we take her to the infirmary?” Seteth asked, pulling Rhea’s from her apparent trance.

“No,” she said quickly. “Take her up to my room. No doubt she needs to sleep, and no one will disturb her up there.”

Seteth looked back and forth between Rhea and Byleth. When he looked at Rhea again, his expression was similar to the one Hilda gave Claude when she wanted to have a long talk with him later. Regardless, he nodded and did as he was told. Rhea followed Seteth towards her quarters, then Dimitri excused himself and abruptly left. Claude looked around, unsure what his next move should be. Just a few feet away, Edelgard was having a heated discussion with Hubert in hushed tones. When Claude tried to approach, Hubert went silent, shooting a glare his way. He bowed stiffly to his princess then stalked away.

“What was that about?” Claude asked. A small part of him wanted to laugh. “Don’t tell me he’s mad at you.”

“He is, actually,” Edelgard confirmed. “Hubert did not approve of me helping on this mission, and he is especially upset because I lied to him about when we were going so he could not accompany us.”

Claude furrowed his brow at her. “Why?” he wondered.

Edelgard shrugged. “It wasn’t his fight.”

“And it was yours?”

Edelgard scoffed.

“Don’t get difficult again right when I was starting to like you,” she huffed. Claude frowned. He hardly expected her to be so. . . Touchy. Edelgard wordlessly took her horse’s reins and walked it away, stepping on her right leg carefully.

Left alone, Claude realized that the majority of his friends were already gone, as well. It seemed everyone was eager to be done for the day. Claude sighed, realizing how exhausted he was himself. He debated on seeing where Petra was, but thought better of it. He had sort of done a similar thing as Edelgard did to Hubert to keep her from helping on the mission. To keep her safe, of course. But he was not looking forward to that fight, regardless of the motives. With nothing better to do, he trudged slowly towards his room.

Something stopped him when he passed by the stairs to the professors’ offices. Rhea’s reaction to Byleth’s changed irked him. He tried to convince himself he didn’t care. After all, it was really none of his business.

But. . .

_I was Fódlan’s Beginning, but I believe that by Byleth’s side, you will be its End._

“Damn it,” Claude said to himself, his legs already dragging him up the stairs. _Really, you can be such a fool sometimes!_“Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, _damn it._” He slowed his pace only when approaching the second flight, which led to Rhea’s quarters. Confident that no one was around to catch him, Claude ascended the stairs.

He could hear Rhea singing as he stepped into the open air of her hallway. It was the same song she had sung to herself the night of the ball. Steeling himself, Claude peeked around the wall into her room. She was sitting on the bed, Byleth’s head in her lap, stroking her hair lovingly as if she were a small child. Why was she acting this way towards Byleth? Claude watched intensely. If anything were to happen. . .

Byleth stirred, and his heart skipped a beat. “Where. . . Where am I?” he could hear her mutter.

“Shh, sh, it’s okay,” Rhea cooed. Claude’s lip curled involuntarily. “You don’t need to worry about that right now. I’m here for you. My darling.” Something about the way she said those last two words made Claude’s cheeks burn. Rhea continued her song, and Byleth drifted off to sleep again.

Claude heard footsteps behind him, coming up the stairs. With nowhere else to hide, he fled for Rhea’s balcony, pressing himself against the wall behind a tall plant. “Lady Rhea,” he heard Seteth’s voice say. Rhea stopped her singing. The footsteps padded a few more steps forward, then Claude heard nothing. The air grew tense the longer the silence dragged on. “Are we going to talk about this?” Seteth finally said.

“There is nothing to discuss—“

“Horse shit!” Seteth hissed. “She looks like one of us! Are you going to try to tell me—“

“There is nothing to discuss _yet_,” Rhea said over him. Her tone was low but harsh. Claude assumed she did not want disturb Byleth. Another stretch of silence stung the air.

“I read Jeralt’s diary,” Seteth admitted, his volume now matching Rhea’s. Claude strained to hear them. “I went into his room to look for something of mine he had borrowed before his passing, and it was just laying there. I could not resist. . .” Claude heard a deep breath. “She really is _that_ child isn’t she?”

No response.

“Rhea. . .”

“I need you to trust me,” Rhea pleaded. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Seteth asked mockingly. He sighed. “You are my family,” Seteth whispered, causing Claude to tense up. “You and I have been through more than—but is this really the answer?”

More silence.

“I guess we shall find out at the ceremony.”

Another sigh. “You don’t mean—“

“I do,” Rhea said with an uncomfortable amount of finality.

“I’m sorry to have doubted you,” Seteth whispered. His voice sounded strained. “Excuse me.”

Claude heard footsteps retreat back down the stairs.

Rhea remained silent. So silent, in fact, that Claude scarcely breathed in fear of alerting her to his presence. It was an agonizing eternity before Rhea started singing again.

Claude was unsure if he could pass by her doorway again without being caught, but with her creating noise, he could at least adjust into a seated position while he waited for her to leave. He doubted that would happen any time soon. Leaning his head back against the wall, he let his mind wander. Perhaps the time alone with his thoughts would give him the chance to sort some things out. Such as, were Seteth and Rhea actually related, or had Seteth been speaking figuratively? What had he meant when he had said Byleth looked like “us”? Who could “us” be? There were many questions to consider. And Claude could not focus on any of them.

His mind was stuck on a singular topic: why the hell was he sitting on that balcony?

The question led Claude’s mind to his conversation with Sothis.

It wasn’t even the fact that she had predicted that Claude would bring about the End of Fódlan—something Claude was sure would bring concern for most people—but it was the “by Byleth’s side” point that plagued him.

Why did Sothis have to say that, specifically?

“Do you not know?” Sothis had asked him.

The question was breaking down a wall in Claude’s mind. He had thought it a fortress, but Sothis’s words knocked it down like the wooden blocks Claude used to play with as a child.

_“Do you not know?”_

There was a secret behind those walls, a secret that Claude had kept well-hidden until Sothis stood before him. So well-hidden, in fact, that he could not even bring himself to think upon it. That Claude—

_“Do you not know?”_

He squeezed his eyes shut.

_No, no no_, he said to himself. The battle raged on in his mind. Because he did know. . . He had known for a while. And he had nowhere to hide while alone on Rhea’s balcony. Nothing to distract him, to pull his focus. No matter how many minutes he sat there, no matter what other mystery Claude tried to wrap his mind around, it would always circle back to those four words. It was almost as if his brain was forcing him to face the fact that—

_“Do you not know?”_

The four-word question gave way to the memory of when Claude and Byleth spoke in Jeralt’s office.

_How little he would have to shift to. . ._

It played itself on repeat in Claude’s mind, filling the solitude with a plea to _stop fucking lying_ to himself _for once_ and just admit it!

_How little he would have to shift to. . ._

_Kiss her._

Claude choked back a frustrated sob, clenching his fists so hard his left hand throbbed from the strain. His lungs burned and his ribs ached, and all he could feel was wave after wave of self-loathing. Because he could no longer deny what he had so carefully tried to guard himself from. Once he thought those two words, it was like everything else came spilling out of his subconscious. He thought of every silent promise he had made to Byleth, of every secret he offered to her, of every time he gave a piece of himself to her first, before the girl that he was actually dating.

And then, Claude thought of Petra. Petra, who was kind and smart and beautiful, who had been the source of so much laughter, who had been nothing but loving and supportive through all of Claude’s bullshit, who had stuck by his side even when rumors about him and Byleth were rampant. Oh, how fucking ironic that seemed now.

What was Claude going to do?

Rhea was still singing, with absolutely no idea there was a teenager sobbing silently to himself in her courtyard. Claude wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. He clamped his teeth together to stop the shuddering from his ragged breath, but that only seemed to make it worse.

What was Claude going to do to fix this?

Fuck, what _could_ he do to fix this?

When he no longer had to forcefully choke back sobs in order to breathe, he repositioned himself behind the plant so he could rest his head in his hands. He had really fucked up this time. Really, truly, fucked up. _You’re in a relationship with Petra, and you wanted to kiss Byleth_, Claude repeated to himself miserably. A part of him hoped the second time thinking it would sting less, or maybe just feel less like it was true.

It didn’t.

So, what was next?

Claude tried to think of it logically. There was no point in trying to reason himself out of the predicament he was in. Not anymore. After all, Claude thought bitterly, any other man wouldn’t sneak up to an archbishop’s room to watch over a woman he didn’t like. Any other man wouldn’t tell his biggest secret to a woman he didn’t like, just to keep her from crying. Any other man wouldn’t have his heart broken when he was betrayed by a woman he didn’t like.

Claude had to face that fact, or risk digging himself into a deeper hole.

But there was still the question of what to _do_. He circled the question for what felt like hours, and the only answer that came to his mind was “nothing.” He could only find answers of what he was _not_ going to do. He was not going to act on his feelings for Byleth. That one was obvious. He was not going to tell anyone about this, either. Rumors about him and Byleth had finally dropped to the point where Claude didn’t catch whispers of a “secret romance” anymore, and he would be damned if he gave anyone a reason to start that fire again. Besides, what good would it do to tell anyone? Claude was with Petra, and. . . And he loved her. He loved her _so_ much. He would never intentionally do anything to hurt her.

Claude sighed to himself.

But what about what Sothis had said? Was there truly only one way for Claude to interpret the phrase “by Byleth’s side”? And did it have to be romantically? . . . Claude did not know. He knew that was not what he wanted, though. What he wanted was for everything to go back to normal, to return to the days where he and Byleth were friends and everything was fine. But Claude did not see how he could return to that happy and simple place in time when he was fighting himself on whether it was better to love Byleth or avoid her at all costs.

Maybe. . . Maybe that was the answer.

Everything had been so intense, that Claude realized he forgot what it was like to just _exist_ in the same space as her. If he kept trying to make these big choices in the span of a moment, kept leaping from one extreme feeling to another, he would only keep himself in these predicaments. But if he walked in a straight line, took life day by day, treated his relationship with Byleth like everything was mellow and calm and normal, and maintained the space between them. . .

Maybe that would give him the time he needed to sort things out.

The sun was high in the sky when Claude finally heard footsteps leaving Rhea’s room. He listened intently as they headed for the stairs, not moving until he was certain he heard them no more. Claude took a moment to stretch, his legs sore from crouching against the wall for the better part of the afternoon. When he had rubbed the sleep out of them, he peered around the corner to confirm that Rhea had truly left.

A single figure lay on Rhea’s bed, green hair covering their face. At first, Claude instinctively pulled back behind the corner before he realized that the figure was Byleth. It was truly astounding how much she looked like Rhea, all because their hair and eyes were now similar shades. Seteth had not been wrong in making the comparison. But Claude did not want to dwell on that thought at the moment. He crept away towards the stairs, praying she would not wake.

Feeling a mixture of grief and relief when she didn’t.

Claude passed the classrooms and the dorms soundlessly. He practically fled past the door leading to Petra’s room. He couldn’t stand the idea of facing her. Not now. Claude would go to her only when he had sorted himself out for the day.

It was the least that he owed her.

A day later, Byleth came into the class with a somber expression on her face. Her hair had not darkened back to its original color, nor did her flashing green eyes seem any less bright. “I want to start the day by thanking you all again for joining me yesterday,” she said, glancing around the room at each of her students. “I am deeply. . . honored that you all were willing to risk so much to give me the opportunity to face my father’s—“ Her breath hitched, causing her voice to trail off before she could finish the sentence. Byleth shook her head, crossing her arms and looking down at the ground by her feet. The gold bangle on her wrist gleamed in the light. “Lecture is cancelled for the day. Because, umm. . . Well, to be frank, I’m sure you all have questions.” A low, nervous laughter rippled through the classroom. Claude caught the corner of Byleth’s mouth twitch upward. “My life this last year has been full of secrets, and it’s wearing me down. I doubt I could come up with a way to hide what happened to me, anyway, so. . . As a thank you, for being by my side yesterday. . . I am giving you this opportunity to ask me anything you want about what happened. I do not expect you to like the answers that I give, but. . . My only request is that it does not leave this classroom for anyone.” A beat of silence followed. “Can we all agree to that?”

The class collectively nodded.

Byleth’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and she practically collapsed against her desk when she saw the students nod. “Then, let’s begin. I won’t make this formal by any means so. . . Ask away.” Based on the slight shutter in her voice, Claude figured she must be absolutely terrified.

For a moment, nobody said anything. Claude glanced around the room. A handful of the students were shuffling in their seats, moving their mouths, but not managing to get anything out. “Why don’t you just start from the beginning?” Lysithea suggested. “And we can ask questions as you go.”

_The beginning_. Funny, how ominous that statement sounded to Claude now.

Byleth nodded. She took a long, steadying breath, then she told her class everything. She told them about her relationship with Sothis, and what had transpired between her and the goddess when she was forced into the void. She told them of her ability to turn back time, of the night she had obtained it. Of how she feared her hands being broken would keep her from using the ability again, even though they had mostly healed. Of the ways she had used it to saves their lives since becoming their professor. And the room was silent, awed, entranced by her tale.

“So, does that make you. . . the goddess now?” Ignatz asked. His eyes were wide with bewilderment. “Were you sent here on some sort of divine mission?”

“No,” Byleth said with a slight chuckle. “I’m still just your professor. But my soul has merged with hers, and. . .” She paused to glance at Claude. “I no longer hear her voice in my head the way that I used to.”

Claude had suspected that already. When Sothis told him that she did not have long left to speak with him, there were few ways for that sentence to be interpreted.

“To what extent have you merged with her, then, if you are not a reincarnation?” Lysithea wondered. She was leaning over her desk, hands firmly planted. “Are you merely a vessel?”

Byleth stiffened at the last word. “I am not sure,” Byleth whispered. “Lady Rhea wants to hold a ceremony in the Holy Tomb, where Sothis’s remains are buried. She thinks I will gain some sort of. . . revelation. I don’t know what to expect, but I am hoping to gain some answers there.”

“How many underground caverns are there in this place?” Leonie muttered under her breath.

“You aren’t going down there on your own, are you?” Raphael asked. His countenance seemed harsher than usual.

Byleth looked up at him, brow furrowed. “There’s not much else that can be done,” she said. “I’ve already agreed to go with Rhea and—“

“Is it dangerous?” Caspar asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

Byleth sighed.

“Professor,” Leonie started. “None of our missions lately have gone to plan. And there may still be people out there associated with. . . Whoever Monica and Tomas ended up being. What if you get ambushed in the Holy Tomb?”

“It’s my only option,” Byleth insisted. She leaned further against the desk, her arms crossed over her chest. “I can hardly deny Rhea’s wishes, now can I?”

“It does not mean you have to go alone,” Marianne chimed in. The look on her face was determined. When Byleth looked at her with widened eyes, she straightened her shoulders. “Professor, please allow me to go with you. I could not bear it if something happened and we. . . well, if we failed you again.”

Byleth said nothing, her expression dropping as if she did not quite understand what Marianne was saying. “I would not ask that of you. . .” she uttered.

Sylvain stood up. “Darling Professor,” he began, and half the class groaned. “Think of it not as you asking it of us, but us asking it of you.”

Byleth looked more confused than before. Her eyes darted around the room. “Are you saying all of you wish to go?”

“Yes,” Lorenz said with a confident grin. “Even the saint Seiros herself had her Holy Knights surrounding her when she received her divine revelation. We may not exactly be up to the standard, but please. . . Allow us to be your Holy Knights.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you,” Sylvain muttered, sitting back down.

Byleth said nothing in reply, though everyone watched her expectantly. She kept her eyes downcast, and her light green hair fell slightly over her face. Claude’s heart raced.

“What do you say, Professor?” Flayn asked. “Will you allow us to offer our support once again?”

“I never expected,” Byleth whispered shakily, “that you all would be so. . . Okay with all of this.”

“Well, why would we not be?” Hilda wondered. Claude held his tongue. “From everything you’ve said, we should be on our knees _worshipping_ you. Is there any reason we should be angry with you about this?”

Claude figured she meant the question rhetorically. She must have. But Byleth did not reply right away. Then Hilda locked eyes with Claude.

And gasped.

“No!” she hissed. And all eyes were on Claude.

“Oh, shit!”

“You knew about this?”

“Look at his face, of course he knew!”

“Then the rumors—“

“Stop!” Byleth shouted.

The room went silent once again.

Byleth looked at Claude. Her green eyes were practically glowing, they shone so bright.

Claude swore they would burn a hole in his head.

“Do I have your permission to tell them?” she murmured. Her voice was so quiet, Claude doubted anyone beyond his seat in the front of the class could hear her.

Claude pressed his mouth into a thin line and nodded. There was no reason for her to ask his permission. It was _her_ secret, after all. Claude had only ever kept silent for her sake.

Another wave of guilt hit him.

At least now he knew why. . .

Byleth straightened her back and addressed the class again. “Yes, Claude knew about my gift. He knows because I. . . rewound a day of his life for my own convenience.” Many of the students gaped, their faces filling with shock and confusion. “I thought I was protecting myself, but. . . Well, I won’t bore you with the details. The long story short is, he found out about it, we fought, and he kept it secret so my. . . ability. . . would not be exposed. And now. . .” Byleth looked down again, shifting from one foot to another.

“And now we’ve made up,” Claude finished for her. He wanted this conversation to end, but gods, he wasn’t selfish enough to walk away with the risk of her looking bad again. Byleth glanced his way, but he avoided looking at her. “It’s like Teach said, the details are long and boring.” He gave his typical smile. “So no point dwelling on it.” Then, to wrap it all up: “Teach has saved all of our lives more than we can ever know, and the least we can do is show our continuing support for her. And if I’m saying that, then the rest of you have no room to waver.”

“Then it’s settled,” Hilda chimed in, much to Claude’s relief. Several pairs of eyes shifted away from him. “Professor, just say when and where you want us to meet to go to the Holy Tomb, and we will happily be there for you.”

Byleth smiled, a breathy laugh escaping her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

A crowd of students and off-duty knights lined the walls of the training grounds when Claude snuck inside its doors. It was easy to spot Raphael—head and shoulders taller than everyone else—in the central clearing, but Claude could not spot who he was facing.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Raphael asked. There was an eager note in his voice.

“I certainly don’t intend on bowing out,” Byleth’s voice replied. Of _course_ it was Byleth. “But I do think it’s only fair that I apologize in advance for wrestling you to the ground.” The room erupted into a bunch of “Oooooohhhh!”s at her taunt.

Claude ignored them, pushing his way through the crowd until he found the person he was looking for. Hilda was on a crate, wedged between Leonie and Ingrid to watch the wrestling match. They were cheering gleefully along with everyone else. “Hils!” Claude called, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of more shouts and hollers. The match must have started.

When Hilda finally caught sight of Claude working his way toward her, she smiled and waved. Her hand reached for his when he was a few feet away so he could be pulled over. “Hey, there, hot stuff,” Hilda laughed. “Come to watch the carnage?”

“If you are, you better sit down! You’re in my way,” Ingrid chided playfully. “It’s been ages since your professor has sparred with anyone publicly, and I have a months-old bet going on with my boyfriend that she can kick anyone’s ass.”

“Where is Felix, by the way?” Leonie wondered.

“Still sulking over the last time Byleth kicked his ass.”

Both girls snickered.

“I’m actually here to pull Hilda away,” Claude said apologetically. He turned to Hilda, keeping his face stern. “It’s urgent.”

“Ugh, fine,” Hilda whined. She kissed both girls on the cheek then hopped off the crate. Claude heard the distinct noise of Raphael grunting in pain, then a loud collision. “Looks like it won’t be a long battle anyway.” Hilda took Claude’s hand so he could lead her out of the crowd of soldiers and students who were watching the match. “Is everything okay?” she wondered.

“It will be,” Claude said. He hoped his voice didn’t betray anything.

When they were out of the training grounds at last, Claude let go of Hilda’s hand, but she still kept close by his side. “You’re being really cryptic,” she told him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

Claude halted in his steps. He finally turned to Hilda, a look of anguish on his face. Hilda’s eyes widened, filling with concern for him. “Hils. . .”

“Claude?”

Claude couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He started laughing.

“Oh, you asshole!”

“You should have seen the look on your face!” Claude bent over, pressing his hands against his knees to keep from falling over.

“I hate you,” Hilda pouted.

“That’s no way to talk to the guy who bought you a gift today.” Hilda raised her eyebrows. Claude reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in thin, colorful paper. “Happy birthday, my friend.”

Hilda’s glare melted into a wide grin. She took the small bundle from her friend’s hands and unwrapped it. When she saw the delicate hair ornament, she started jumping up and down, squealing so loud that it drew attention from staff and students walking by.

“I already regret buying you a present,” Claude groaned teasingly.

“I just never realized you were capable of being so _nice_!” Hilda exclaimed.

“Are you _crying_?!” Claude demanded.

“No,” Hilda sniffled. She looked down at the comb in her hand and started squealing all over again.

“Oh, my gods. It’s a hair clip!” Claude laughed. “You own like, a hundred of them.”

“Yes, but this one is a gift from my pain-in-the-ass best friend!” Hilda exclaimed. “And I will treasure it always!”

Claude couldn’t resist laughing again. “Well, let that be my second birthday present to you, then: the realization that I actually care.”

“It’s perfect,” Hilda hummed. She reached up on her toes and pecked him on the cheek. “Did Petra help you pick it out?”

“Nope. I picked it out myself,” Claude declared proudly. He had spent quite a bit of time deciding on the right one for her. Hilda did not necessarily need the most expensive accessories, but she still took great care in assessing the quality. Claude had been dragged to the market with her enough times over the last year to learn that about her.

Hilda took Claude’s hand and tugged. “I want to put it on! Let’s go to my room!”

“No!” Claude teased. “I don’t have that kind of time for you!”

“Well, I’m _not_ going back in there for Leonie, Lysithea won’t care, Mari has been mysteriously making the habit of disappearing most afternoons to goddess-knows where—“ she paused and winked at Claude. “Seteth hasn’t let Flayn out of his sight since we got back from our revenge mission, and your girlfriend went to visit the empire with Edelgard for the week. So that just leaves you.”

“Fine fine,” Claude chuckled, allowing Hilda to lead him towards her room. “And about Mari. . .”

“She finally told me,” Hilda said, answering his unfinished question. “I can’t believe you knew this entire time and said nothing! I never would have guessed you were in on it!” She sighed longingly. “Though I _guess_ you were just being a good friend to her by keeping her secret.”

“I don’t know that it’s ever been secret,” Claude pointed out. “Just private. Neither of them is really showy by nature, but it’s pretty obvious how they feel about each other when you see them together.”

“I suppose,” Hilda hummed. They reached her dorm, and she held the door open so Claude could walk in. When the door was closed again, Hilda leaned against it, a mischievous gleam in her eye. Her voice lowered, and she asked, “Did you see the ring he gave her? What if she actually becomes the queen of Faergus?” Her smile broadened. “Do you think we’d be invited to the wedding?”

“I think, as future leader of the Alliance and Marianne’s old House Leader, I will be invited by obligation,” Claude said. He gave his friend a wicked grin. “And if I’m not married by then, I guess I could take you as my plus one.”

Hilda dramatically rolled her eyes. “And what if _I’m_ married by then?”

“Then your husband will already be used to sharing,” Claude said with a wink, which sent Hilda into a fit of laughter. She sat in front of her mirror, still chuckling. As she tried out various positions for her new comb, Claude sat on her bed, admiring the several vases of flowers decorating her room.

“All from admirers?” Claude wondered.

“They all just ended up at my doorstep this morning,” Hilda giggled. “I think some of our classmates bought me some, but the rest came anonymously. Isn’t it sweet?”

“Sure is,” Claude mumbled. One bouquet in particular stood out to him: a cluster of vibrant red roses with a single pink one in the center. “Who’s that one from?” Claude asked.

Hilda shrugged, but the action wasn’t quite nonchalant enough. The muscles in her back and shoulders were a tad too tense to be convincing. Claude had wondered for a while now if she was in a relationship and not telling him about it. But weren’t they friends? Shouldn’t she tell him if she was seeing someone? Claude supposed that line of thought was hypocritical. He kept his fair share of secrets, after all.

“What do you think?” Hilda asked, turning back around to face him.

Claude looked up at her. She had her hair down, with one side pulled back with the comb, so the decorative flowers on it looked like they were dropping into her silky pink locks. She fluttered her eyelashes teasingly at him, and he grinned. “It’s perfect,” Claude said.

Hilda’s smile widened. “Of course, it’s too delicate to wear as an everyday accessory, but I could probably wear it on the day of graduation.”

“Graduation?” Claude repeated.

“Yeah,” Hilda said slowly. “The school year is ending next month. How are you not counting down the days?”

“I guess it just slipped my mind with everything else going on recently,” Claude admitted. Hilda nodded somberly.

“It’s been a weird year,” she said.

“Very weird,” Claude agreed.

“I’m still reeling over the whole ‘Our professor is a goddess who played with your life like a toy and you let everyone think you slept with her so you wouldn’t give away her secret’ thing.”

Claude rolled his eyes. He hoped the action was casual enough that he could drop the conversation quickly. He wanted to think about Byleth as little as possible. “You _know_ that’s oversimplifying it. Why do I get the feeling I’ll never live that down?”

“Because you never will,” Hilda teased. She shifted slightly, eyes downcast. “We’ll still be friends after graduation, right? You won’t be. . . I don’t know, too busy leading the Alliance to see me?”

“Of course not!” Claude exclaimed. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Hilda giggled. “Do you think the professor is done with her match with Raphael?”

“Probably,” Claude answered flatly. “Why?”

“She promised me tea time for my birthday, but I don’t want her to think she needs to be all cleaned up and polished for me. It’s just like any other time we’ve had tea, really,” Hilda hummed. When Claude gave her a questioning look, she added. “I’ve been trying to spend more time with her lately. We’re all leaving soon, and after all the weird shit that’s happened. . . Well, it would be a shame after everything if she dropped off the face of the earth and we didn’t know where she went.”

“Do you really think Rhea will let her go after she merged with the goddess?”

Hilda shrugged. “She could run away,” she whispered.

Claude chuckled. “Dark thoughts for your birthday.”

“Yes, and shame on you for putting them there.” Hilda stood up and playfully swat him on the arm. “Now, shoo! I want to get changed really quick. But don’t go anywhere! As payment for your dark thoughts, you have to walk me to Professor Byleth’s door.”

“No!” Claude teased, letting Hilda push him out the door. “Too much work.”

“That’s my line,” Hilda laughed. She winked and closed the door. Claude chuckled to himself. He leaned against the door, about to close his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching. Byleth stepped in the hallway, carrying a bouquet of flowers in a vase. As much as he hated to admit it, Claude still could not get over the drastic change in her appearance. The lighter shade of hair made her look almost like she was glowing, and her intense sea foam-colored eyes seemed to peer through his soul.

Gods, how he hated himself for thinking that.

“Where’s Hilda?” Byleth asked, her eyes crinkling. “I’m supposed to meet her for tea, so I figured I’d give her birthday flowers to her now.”

“She’s just changing,” Claude said, keeping his voice as level as he could manage. “I don’t think she’ll be too long.”

“Did she have other plans?”

“No, she was going to meet you.”

“Oh, good.” Byleth looked at him expectantly, but Claude could not find the words to say to her. It was surprisingly difficult, he found, to walk that fine line between being cordial, without being too familiar or too tense. Especially when no one else was around for him to focus on. The crinkling of Byleth’s eyes faltered, but when she opened her mouth to speak, Hilda burst out of her room.

“Oh, you’re here, Professor. Are those for me? Thank you!” Hilda eagerly took the pink bouquet and placed it on her dresser beside the others before stepping back into the hallway. “I hope you don’t intend to cancel on me? I know Hanneman’s been taking up quite a bit of your time since the whole. . .” She gestured vaguely at Byleth’s face. “You know, transformation.”

“Yes, him and Rhea,” Byleth sighed. Claude could see the strain around her eyes as she said Rhea’s name. “But I intentionally made sure I had no other obligations this afternoon so we could keep our date.”

“Wonderful!” Hilda beamed. She looked over at Claude “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this, but you should come too, Claude! It’ll be fun!”

Byleth glanced at Claude, her eyes awaiting his answer. A wave of anxiety washed over him. He knew Hilda would be upset if he declined. It was her birthday, after all. But she was really putting him between a rock and a hard place. “That sounds like a great idea!” Claude replied, hoping his smile did not appear strained. “What do you say, Teach?”

Byleth’s expression softened. “The more the merrier. I’ll lead the way to my courtyard.” Hilda hopped with glee, following their professor excitedly while Claude walked behind them. His heartbeat quickened. He felt nervous about hanging out with Byleth. Even though they wouldn’t be alone. And even though it was at Hilda’s request on her birthday.

It still felt like he was doing something wrong.

“Claude!”

Claude looked up, coming to a halt as his girlfriend flung her arms around his neck, covering his face in kisses. “Pet!” he exclaimed. His stomach flipped, and he wasn’t quite sure if it was relief or anxiety. “I thought you were off exploring the empire with Edelgard.” Petra continued to kiss his face as Byleth and Hilda waited in the distance, pretending not to notice their aggressive display of affection.

“I was!” Petra said. “But Edelgard and Hubert were having to take care of some business, so Dorothea and I came back early.” She smiled then kissed him. “I was wanting to surprise you.”

“Well you certainly did just that,” Claude chuckled. Petra furrowed her brow and took a step back. Only then did she notice Byleth and Hilda watching them.

“I am interrupting plans.”

“Oh, hush!” Hilda called, happily approaching them. “We were just going to have some tea to celebrate my birthday.” She took one of Petra’s hands in hers. Petra’s other hand was intertwined with Claude’s. “You should come with us!”

“That is right!” Petra said. Her countenance was slightly more relaxed. “I have a present for you hiding in my room. I should be getting it!”

“Please do!” Hilda said. “Then come join us in the professor’s courtyard, yes?” Hilda looked back at Byleth. “If that’s alright with you, Professor?”

“Perfectly fine,” Byleth called back.

Petra smiled at her. She looked up at Claude, and her expression became unreadable. “Come with me?” she asked.

“Of course, Pet,” Claude said immediately. His heart thrummed in his chest. Petra pulled him towards her room as the other two women continued their walk ahead. When Petra had Claude in her room, she closed the door and pulled away from him. 

“You told me your professor’s appearance had differences,” she began carefully. “But this must be the first time I am seeing her since the change. I am having. . . I am shocked.”

Claude blinked. Whatever he thought Petra was going to say, this certainly wasn’t it.“It’s weird, huh?” Claude asked, keeping his tone casual. “I’m barely used to it.”

“Does it not worry you?” Petra asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “We have stories, in Brigid, about people whose bodies have merged with spirits. They can sometimes fly, or be stronger than everyone else, or. . .” Petra’s voice trailed off. “They usually are having a change in appearance, as well.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Claude asked her. “That means you have some form of understanding on what’s going on with her.” He tried to take her hand again, and she gently brushed him aside.

“The stories did not always end well for the people who merged with spirits,” Petra told him. She looked pained at her own words. “I pray that nothing bad is happening to your professor.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so protective,” Claude told her.

Petra shot him a look. “I may have resentment for the rumors that spread about you and her, but that doesn’t mean I am disliking her.” She crossed her arms. “I certainly don’t want her to have suffering from possession.”

Claude decided he needed to start giving his girlfriend more credit. “Well, I don’t think you need to worry about that,” he tried to assure her.

“Why should I not have worry?” Petra demanded.

_Because the goddess who lives within her spoke to me._ That was the simple answer. But also the complicated one. How could he explain to Petra that the goddess of Fódlan stopped time to speak with him, without also revealing why she was so interested in him in the first place? Claude had not told anyone about his conversation with Sothis, nor did he ever intend to. So how was he going to answer Petra?

Luckily, she seemed to interpret Claude’s silence as doubt. “I’m sorry. I was not meaning to worry you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. He felt guilty for not correcting her, but it saved him from having to come up with an explanation. Claude did not want to lie to Petra. He _never_ lied to Petra.

“It’s okay,” Claude whispered back, kissing the top of her head. He squeezed her tightly then let her go, and Petra smiled up weakly at him. “Let’s go meet up with Hilda and Teach. We can worry about spirits and possessions and all that fun stuff later, okay?”

Petra’s lips tightened into a tight line as she nodded. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Claude is finally admitting some of his feelings to himself at LAST! Baby boy still has a bit of a ways to go but he took a step forward!
> 
> Also thank you to all of you darlings who wished me a happy birthday. You all get a spirit hug and my eternal love <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at Garreg Mach tailspins out of control after the Golden Deer students join Byleth down in the Holy Tomb.

Something felt off to Claude the moment that Rhea and Byleth approached the Golden Deer class to enter the Holy Tomb. Rhea was in her usual robes, but with a chest plate and arm braces secured on top of them. Byleth, on the other hand, was wearing armor Claude had never seen before, and he suspected it was a gift from Rhea. The armor looked more ceremonial in appearance than practical, with her legs and abdomen almost completely exposed and the metal plates wrought in gold rather than a sturdier metal like iron or steel. In a way, it made Claude anxious. Despite the absolute mess that was his feelings for her, he did not like the idea of Byleth being exposed in a battle. Exposure was vulnerable. Exposure meant danger. And while Claude was no longer the only one who made the decision to be her protector, he still doubted that any of his other classmates were feeling the same electricity in the air that told him something was decidedly wrong.

Claude sighed to himself. _You’re just being paranoid_, he argued. Yes, that had to be it. Perhaps the preference of ceremony over practicality meant Rhea did not truly expect for them to encounter any harm down in the tomb, which meant they were, in fact, all going to be safe.

Right?

“Will you be joining us, Seteth?” Rhea asked calmly to the green-haired man, cutting him off from asking Flayn for easily the fourth or fifth time if she was _sure_ she wanted to go on this mission.

Seteth was not quite as composed. He all but glared in reply before saying, “No, I have duties to attend to here.” He stalked off swiftly. The action did not go unnoticed by the other students, based on the way some shifted from foot to foot.

Rhea, appearing unfazed, looked back at the students and addressed them all. “Thank you for supporting your professor on this glorious day as she descends into the Holy Tomb to receive a divine revelation from the goddess Sothis. You should be honored to accept this task. This day is sure to go down in Fódlan history as one to be remembered.” The students all stood at attention at her words. Claude seized the opportunity to sneak a glance at each of them, gauging their emotions on the day’s task. Some, like Leonie, seemed proud and determined. Others looked frightened, eyes just a little too wide and knuckles white on spears and sword handles. Then there was Flayn, who appeared devoid of all emotion. Suspicious, for such an expressive girl.

As Rhea turned to lead the students into the Holy Tomb’s entrance, Claude inched his way closer to Flayn. He leaned down and whispered, “You know something we don’t,” which caused her to jump. She looked up at Claude with large, round eyes.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“Is there a reason to be worried about going into the Holy Tomb?” Claude asked. Flayn avoided his gaze. “Flayn,” Claude begged. “This is the safety of your friends that we’re talking about here. If something—“

“It’s not that,” Flayn replied, cutting him off. She looked up at Rhea then leaned closer to him. They were entering a dark, narrow tunnel, and all of the conversations going on lightly echoed off the walls. It made picking out one particular voice more difficult. Claude leaned down further. “I’m worried about the fact that my brother and Rhea have been arguing so much lately. Knowing your pension for antics, I’m sure you knew that already.” She managed to give a knowing smile. “But Seteth is not concerned about the Holy Tomb, exactly. I think he’s concerned about the professor.”

“You mean he doesn’t think she should go down and receive the revelation?” Claude guessed. The man had been angered over Byleth gaining access to the Sword of the Creator so many months ago, so it did not seem like much of a reach.

Still, Flayn shook her head. “More so he doesn’t know why the professor would be able to receive a divine revelation.” Flayn uttered as quietly as she could manage. “Rhea seems to know but won’t tell him. And she’s _never_ kept a secret from my brother before.” Flayn emphasized the word “never” in a way that made Claude wonder just how long the two had known each other. Seteth had called Rhea his family before, but. . . Something about that still seemed off to Claude, somehow. Not false, exactly, but Claude wondered if Seteth had meant Rhea was a sort of spiritual family member rather than a physical one like Flayn. But alas, that was a mystery for another day.

“Any theories?” Claude wondered. Flayn did not look up at him.

“I’ve said too much already,” she whispered. She added one more thing, but her voice was lost to the echoes in the walls. All Claude caught was Seteth’s name.

They reached the end of the hall after several minutes of moving downward. Claude had expected the tomb to be resting there, but instead only saw a strange, small, iron-framed room. When Claude looked up, he realized that the room must have been some sort of transportation device, as it was held up by a metal pulley system. Claude wondered how the hell the thing could possibly be controlled, though.

“Everyone, please step in,” Rhea encouraged, gesturing to the metal box. The students piled in, followed by Byleth, then Rhea. Claude strained his head to see what Rhea did to make the thing move—he could hardly see her being the type of woman to pull on a rope and lower them by hand. She pulled on a metallic lever, and a whirring sound hummed in the air. Next thing Claude knew, they were falling. Not free-falling, but the metal box was descending far more rapidly than human hands could have managed. Lysithea jumped, instinctively clinging onto Claude’s arm. Claude decided he would not make fun of her for it later. He, too, felt a bit of terror. They all did, judging by their faces.

Everyone, save for Flayn and Rhea.

The latter stepped calmly out of the lift once it reached the ground below and gestured for everyone else to do the same. “How did you do that?” Claude blurted as he approached her. “Was that magic that you just used? What kind of magic would be able to power that thing?”

“It’s this way, Professor,” Rhea said to Byleth. Claude frowned at her. He did not like to be ignored.

He walked on in silence, nervously fingering the edge of the bow slung across his shoulders as he looked around the massive chamber. The tomb has a similar feel in the air to the Holy Mausoleum, though it looked entirely different. Where the mausoleum had been crafted of stone, this place was built of a green metal that Claude had never seen before. And the air was colder. Much, much colder.

“This is where the goddess Sothis rests with her children,” Rhea explained. She continued walking down the center of the large open room, gesturing at the stone coffins lining either side. “No one is allowed down here without my expressed permission. As a matter of fact, most people don’t even know this place exists. As such, I would greatly appreciate the discretion of you students, especially considering the great honor it is to step into this room.” Claude tried not to roll his eyes, certain that she had said most of this stuff to them already. Multiple times.

It was only when they were about halfway across the room that Claude saw their end destination. Atop a dais several steps high sat a large throne carved of stone, with a peculiar emblem etched into the back that oddly reminded Claude of a flame. Claude gulped, unable to pull his eyes off of it. Except, to look at Byleth, who was staring straight forward, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her free hand twitched. She was nervous, Claude was sure of it. What could she possibly be thinking right now?

_Stop that, _Claude pleaded._ Don’t do this to yourself._

“Professor,” Rhea called, “if you could please sit on the throne? I am certain that is where you will receive your revelation.”

Byleth nodded, climbing the steps with her shoulders back and her head high. Claude thought she looked stiffer than a board. His heart thrummed urgently in his chest. She sat on the enormous throne and shifted uncomfortably, placing her hands on the armrests. It made her look like a child. And something still felt incredibly wrong.

Ten seconds passed.

Then thirty.

Then sixty. A whole minute, with all of them watching her, and nothing changed.

Rhea frowned. Whatever she expected to happen clearly wasn’t happening. “Have you received a revelation?” she called, regardless of the fact that the answer was obvious. Byleth looked down and shook her head. “It can’t be,” Rhea muttered. She clasped her hands to her head, muttering to herself as Byleth shifted nervously. The unrest was contagious. Claude’s classmates all began whispering amongst themselves, brows furrowed and weapons clenched in tight fists. 

Yet none of them seemed to direct their concern at the archbishop.

None except Claude.

All sense of logic was slipping from him and he knew it. Byleth needed to get off that throne. She shouldn’t be on that throne. If they didn’t leave soon, he feared that Rhea would try to do. . . _Something_, to her. Something involving that throne.

And he knew that wasn’t what he wanted.

Claude was on the verge of running up to the dais and pulling Byleth off himself when he heard a noise behind him, like metal scraping on metal. He turned around and saw the lift riding back up to the entrance. “Lady Rhea?” Claude called, against his better instincts. All conversations behind him stopped. “Does anyone else at Garreg Mach know how to use the lift?”

Rhea turned around. Claude knew the answer before it escaped her lips. “Intruders,” Rhea muttered. “Students, you must protect your professor!”

Without hesitation, Claude’s peers stepped forward, into a formation that was so familiar to them at that point, ready for anything that came down the lift as they marched toward it. They were standing to block whoever would drop down from the lift from reaching Byleth, though Claude did not doubt that she was already on her way down to fight beside them. Despite the lack of protection she had. Claude raised his bow, taking aim at where the lift would land.

Then he saw them, the Flame Emperor, coming down with a small army behind them.

Claude’s throat gripped and his heart pounded. He lowered his bow, arms trembling with rage and recognition. He was not dreaming this time. And with the mental clarity of a man who was not in a half-asleep stupor, he knew one thing for certain.

He _had_ seen that mask before.

“Grab as many crest stones as you can,” the Flame Emperor ordered, and their soldiers hastily spilt, using weapons to remove the heavy stone lids on the coffins and retrieve the stones hiding inside.

“No!” Rhea shrieked, her voice filled with horror. “You do not know what those are!” Then, to the students. “They must not be allowed to escape with the stones!”

The students dispersed on her orders, each going after a different thief and trying to cut them off from their escape. Claude, on the other hand, was not listening. The intruders could take the fucking crest stones for all he cared. But he had only one target. And it was the person who wore the mask Claude first saw at the beginning of the school year, the first time that Jacobe Donovan tried to kill him. The Flame Emperor drew their sword as Claude approached. “I think you and I need to have a long chat about our relationship,” Claude said with a snarl. He raised his bow to loose an arrow, aiming for the space between armor plates. The Flame Emperor deflected it with ease.

“My fight is not with you,” they warned. “Stand aside, or you will force my hand. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“You and I have done that dance before,” Claude reminded them. The Flame Emperor started stepping forward, and Claude loosed another arrow. Deflected again. Reluctantly, Claude reached for his axe. “And yet you haven’t killed me.”

“Not yet,” the Flame Emperor said. And at last, they attacked. Claude gave the battle all he had, pulling no punches, missing no shots. But the Flame Emperor was simply _better_ in combat. That much was certain from the first swing. Had Claude not been putting all of his focus into the battle, he would have cursed himself for not practicing with an axe more before that day. Still, he persisted, intent on being the one who got out of this alive. He swung his axe, aiming for any opening he could see, though his attacks were parried again and again. It occurred to Claude that it would take more than simple combat techniques to win this fight. Winning would require a trick. A clever one.

He had one idea, and it was hardly a clever one. One he was certain Byleth and Petra were both going to kill him for if he failed.

He allowed the Flame Emperor to land a blow.

Not a fatal one, of course, but one that would certainly hurt in the morning.

With the Flame Emperor’s sword and guard down, Claude swung for their head, effectively cracking their mask into pieces. The Flame Emperor grunted from the impact, and Claude thought. . .

That he might. . .

Recognize that voice.

Recognition and dread washed over Claude as he looked into their face, no longer covered by their mask.

“Edelgard?” he asked with disbelief.

“I told you not to get in my way,” Edelgard seethed. She kicked Claude in the ribs to knock him backward, and he clutched his bleeding side.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?!” Claude demanded. He coughed violently, blood coming up when he did. Okay, there was a small chance she hit something vital. Still, Claude wasn’t done fighting. He tried to stand and couldn’t, his pain too distracting. Edelgard kept her distance. And he glared at her with everything he had. “You’ve been connected to _everything_ going on at Garreg Mach since you got here! Including the attempt on my life!”

“Oh, how quickly he catches on,” Edelgard replied sardonically. She looked down at Claude with a sneer on her face, but she did not lift her sword again. There was a flash in her eyes, in the briefest of moments, that could almost be interpreted as remorse. Claude grunted again in pain. Only now it wasn’t just in his side.

“Edie. . .” he said.

Her soldiers approached her, some of them with bulging bags thrown over their shoulders.

“My Lady,” one of them said. “They will be after you now that they know your face. We must leave, now!”

Edelgard took one last look down at Claude. “You will be seeing me again soon,” she promised. She beckoned for her soldiers to draw closer. “And when you do, we will have that talk.” In an instant, they were all gone. As if they had teleported out of the room. The same way that his killer had slipped from his grasp the first night he tried to kill him. Claude was right. The mask _had_ been the same. The attempt on his life had been the Flame Emperor’s doing.

_The attempt on my life had been Edelgard’s doing_, Claude corrected angrily.

“Claude!” A frantic voice behind him called. Hilda came rushing to his side, kneeling to cup his face in her hands. “Why is it that my best friend has to be the most stupid, impulsive—“

“Is he injured?” Rhea’s voice asked. Claude looked up to meet the archbishop’s eyes. A hint of concern touched what was otherwise an expression filled with rage and betrayal. Claude hated that he understood those emotions.

“I got stabbed,” Claude told her. He coughed up more blood. “It’s not that bad.” Rhea knelt between Hilda and Claude, touching her hand to Claude’s side in order to heal him. She did not chant, murmured no words, but still her hands glowed and Claude felt the quick jolt of magic going through him, followed by the instant relief of being healed.

“To think,” Rhea uttered, “that our enemy has been one of the students at the monastery this whole time. That _sinner_! Her only justice will be found in the grave.”

Claude gulped while Hilda looked at the archbishop with outright fear. Rhea ignored both of their expressions. That, or she did not see them.

“Was that really her?” Lysithea asked. Claude looked over and realized that all of his classmates and Byleth were now standing around him. Save for a small cut on her cheek, Byleth appeared unharmed. “Was that Edelgard who just attacked us?”

“It was,” Claude confirmed. To his surprise, Lysithea burst into tears. She leaned into Ignatz, who wrapped his arms around her and whispered something low in her ear. Caspar and Linhardt looked particularly horrified as well. _They had no idea_, Claude realized. He doubted anyone did.

“It couldn’t be,” Leonie stated, a little hysteric. “That would mean that the attack on the Holy Mausoleum, and Flayn’s kidnapping, and Jeralt—“ She choked on her words, thrusting her spear into the ground. “Shit!” she hissed.

“We need to stay calm,” Rhea said, commanding everyone’s attention. She rose slowly from Claude’s side, her hands stained with his blood. “If Edelgard has truly been behind all of the attacks the church has been dealing with, then it is best to see her as an enemy from this moment forward.” Hilda helped Claude get to his feet. He definitely had a bruise forming where Edelgard had struck him, though he was certain the bleeding had stopped thanks to Rhea. He locked eyes with Byleth, who gave him a look that Claude knew meant he would get interrogated later. He was not looking forward to that, for a handful of reasons. “It is also possible that she may strike again,” Rhea continued. “Let us leave this place. I must see to the monastery’s safety as quickly as I can.” She rushed to the elevator with everyone on her heels.

Hilda struggled to keep Claude upright while grabbing her and Claude’s axes. Sylvain came up on Claude’s other side. “I’ve got him, Hilda,” he offered, looping Claude’s arm over his shoulders and freeing her to pick up the weapons and follow everyone else.

“Thanks, Sylvain,” Claude muttered. Sylvain looked down at him with a pained expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Just a bruised rib.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Claude looked up at Sylvain, who’s mouth was pressed in a firm, hard line. “She betrayed us,” Sylvain whispered. Then, to himself, “This is going to destroy Dimitri. . .”

Byleth was waiting for everyone else to go into the lift before entering herself, and Claude and Sylvain were the last to reach it. She squeezed in front of Claude, unable to turn, and therefore ended up stuck eye to eye with him as they ascended. The worried chatter of everyone else around him nearly drowned out Byleth’s voice. “You got a good look at the mask,” she stated.

“I did,” Claude replied.

“And?”

Claude looked down, blowing air hard through his nostrils. Byleth slowly reached for his hand, and he allowed her to take it. To squeeze it once then promptly let go. This was hardly the time to over analyze his feelings, and Claude was acutely aware of the fact that he may enter a different world the moment the doors of the lift opened to the outside world.

One squeeze of his hand would not change things now.

After all, a war had just begun.

Claude huffed as he ran past the lower-level dormitories, a rolled piece of parchment clenched in his hands. Nearly two weeks had gone by in a haze, everyone scrambling with worry over the Flame Emperor’s identity, and why she must have been attacking the church, and what could possibly come next? Then, that morning, an official declaration of war had entered Garreg Mach’s gates. Along with it was a report that the Empire’s army had started marching their way, and a transcribed version of a speech Edelgard apparently gave her people on the day of the war declaration. In any other scenario, Claude would have said that her speech was powerful, moving even, but for the moment, all he could feel was betrayal. Because Edelgard had sat across a table with him for months, gained his trust, even got him to consider her something of a friend, all the while with the knowledge that she had tried to have him killed. And used a psychopath who carried a grudge against his parents to do it! To put a cherry on top, she had even visited him in the infirmary, lamenting the tragedy of it all as if it had not been her own doing! The thought made Claude mad all over again.

And now, thanks to her, war was coming.

Straight for Garreg Mach.

Claude halted from his march when he noticed Ignatz’s door hanging open. Frowning, he approached with caution. Ignatz wasn’t usually the type to leave his door open. When he peered inside, Ignatz was sitting on his bed, crying softly to himself. “Hey, buddy,” Claude said gently. “Everything okay?” Though a part of him felt like Ignatz might want to be alone, he stepped into the entryway of the room. Just in case.

“It’s stupid,” Ignatz began, stubbornly rubbing his eye. He managed to laugh humorlessly. “Did you know my birthday is today? Today, of all days, when Edelgard has declared war on the church with us still inside? Edelgard, who used to be our peer, our friend?” He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve. “It seems so trivial now, but I was looking forward to today. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, and the professor usually gives flowers to all of her students on their birthday, but. . . She never came by this morning.” His eyes welled up with tears all over again. “And I know it’s dumb, because preparing for an all-out attack on the monastery is clearly so much more important, but. . . I was really looking forward to those flowers.” Ignatz covered his face with his hands as he sobbed, and Claude sat on the bed beside him, patting his friend’s back soothingly. “Stupid, I’m so stupid. . .” Ignatz whispered.

“You’re not stupid,” Claude assured him. Though beyond that, he could not think of what words to say to comfort his friend. So he sat there, letting Ignatz cry until his sobs finally slowed.

“Thank you,” Ignatz blubbered. He looked up at Claude. “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” Claude told him. “Teach and I are doing everything we can to keep you guys safe, okay? Don’t worry about a thing. You’ll make it through this.”

Ignatz nodded weakly in reply. He stood up and Claude followed him. “I should help get ready for the battle.”

Claude forced a smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said. “And if you need anything, go ahead and let me know. . . Maybe I can sneak an old piece of cake from the kitchen from you?”

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay,” Ignatz replied. He took off his glasses to wipe away his tears. When he put them back on, he straightened his shoulders. Then with a nod of his head, he left the room, marching towards the training grounds. Claude sadly watched him leave before forcing himself into the opposite direction. Back towards his room. He, too, needed to prepare.

Claude sprinted up the stairs, only pausing at Hilda’s room when he heard her crying. Yet another person who needed comfort. “Hils?” he called. Without thinking, he opened the door. Hilda jumped, looking up at him with a splotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. Lorenz sat beside her, holding her hand in both of his. He had been crying too, Claude realized. Lorenz glared at Claude, eyes _daring_ him to make a joke of the situation, to say something mean or stupid or belittling, that would not only hurt Lorenz, but Hilda as well. Hilda was still gaping at Claude wordlessly.

Claude looked at their hands once again. He said nothing, closing the door to give them their privacy once more.

He turned back towards his room. _Well. . ._ he sighed to himself. Now at least he understood why Hilda had been so secretive as of late. But was that really worth having a relationship behind his back? Even if it was with Lorenz, of all people._ I mean, Lorenz?!_ Claude shook his head. Now wasn’t the time. Claude burst into his room. He pulled out a piece of paper and a quill from his desk, scribbling a hasty note to his grandfather. The postman was leaving that evening, and no other letters were likely to come in or out of the monastery after that. Not with how close Edelgard’s army was. Save for military reports, they would be completely in the dark from then on out. In case he were to die, though, Claude wanted to give one last word of advice for the Alliance’s sake.

_Grandfather,_

Claude hesitated. He had never written to his grandfather before, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to. Should he be formal? Friendly? He decided to just stick to the simple facts and go from there.

_I am unharmed for now. Emperor Edelgard has called for surrounding nobles and dukes to proclaim their allegiances. Compel them all to create a united front, independent of the war. We don’t have to fight needlessly._

His hand hesitated before he wrote one final sentence.

_I’ll be home soon._

He had to get to the stables soon, before the postman left. With the letter in his hand, he sped down the empty hallway to the stairs and out into the open air. Nobody noticed him as he walked through the monastery. If people weren’t running between assignments, they were having emotional breakdowns of their own, much like the one Ignatz had. Nothing was business as usual at the monastery. “Greetings, Claude,” a familiar voice said sadly as Claude passed the entry hall. He stopped walking.

“Hey, Alastair,” Claude said half-heartedly. The usually-chipper gatekeeper shifted from foot to foot.

“Are you leaving before the battle starts?” Alastair asked. “Many of the students are, in hopes of avoiding the war altogether. Particularly the Black Eagles students. . . Not that I blame them.”

Claude didn’t, either, but he couldn’t help thinking of Petra in that moment. The revelation of who Edelgard was and what she had been doing hit her and Dorothea hardest. Neither had made much of a public appearance since then. Especially with some of the looks they had been getting. But Petra was a trooper, and still remained at the monastery. That filled Claude with both admiration and worry. Their situation was only to get more dangerous, especially once the Empire’s army arrived. Nothing bad would happen to her if Claude could help it. Realizing he had not seen much of her the last few days, Claude decided he would check up on Petra once his letter was delivered.

For the moment, though, he did his best to smile at Alastair. “I’m not leaving. The church will need as much backup as it can get. What kind of a house leader would I be if I ran?”

Alastair nodded curtly. “Good,” he said. “That’s the decision a true leader should make. I am glad to here you say it out loud. . .” He hesitated briefly. “I have family in the Leicester Alliance. If House Riegan remains the leading house by the time you become a duke, I know they’ll be taken care of. Thank you.”

Claude nodded. “Thank you for saying that,” he said weakly. Then, remembering why he was there in the first place, “I have to deliver a letter. Did the post—“

“He hasn’t left yet, said a few hours’ delay wouldn’t put him in any danger. You should be able to drop off your letter in his delivery box, and he’ll pick it up before he leaves,” Alastair told him.

“Thank you,” Claude said again. He tried to smile one more time before he walked away.

Three other students were at the stables when Claude arrived there. The first of which was Ferdinand, who was huddled in a corner muttering sullenly to himself. Claude didn’t know the guy very well, but he had heard that his father was stripped of land and title at the start of Edelgard’s reign. That had to be rough. To have everything and then suddenly amount to nothing. He prayed that the young man would be able to recover before the upcoming battle, or that he would otherwise save himself and leave.

The other two were Ingrid and Felix, who were having a low, heated argument. Claude did his best to ignore them, as it was none of his business what they were bickering about this time, but snippets of the conversation entered his ears as he placed his letter in the delivery box. It seemed that Felix wanted Ingrid to go home where she would be safe, but Ingrid was insisting on staying at the monastery.

“Will you stop being so stubborn?” Felix pleaded. “This isn’t a mission, there’s not going to be any extra protection from the knights and we might be executed as war criminals if things go badly. I am just trying to look after you.”

“Who is going to watch after you if I go home, then?” Ingrid hissed.

“Sylvain will,” Felix replied automatically, which earned him a snort from both Ingrid and Claude (who _definitely_ was not eavesdropping at that point).

“Please. The two of you get into more trouble together than separated,” Ingrid whispered. She touched Felix’s cheek and kissed him gently. “You’re stuck with me, like it or not. And I’ll be damned if anything happens to you when I’m not looking.”

“Fine,” Felix said with a low chuckle. He wrapped his arms around Ingrid’s waist. “But I will be _very_ annoyed if anything bad happens to you.”

“I’ll try not to be executed as a war criminal, then.”

Claude left the stables promptly, thinking of the girl that he wanted to keep safe. He was eager to go to her, to make sure she was going to be okay. And he had the rest of the evening off. Who knew when he would have free time like that again?

Whispers could be heard on the other side of Petra’s door when he approached. Claude figured Dorothea had snuck in to visit with her. Good. Neither of them was alone, then. That was probably for the best, under the circumstances. “Knock knock,” he said, opening the door. He did his best to sound cheerful. Gods knew the girls needed it.

Sure enough, the other voice behind the door had been Dorothea’s. But Claude could tell based on the look on her face—as well as Petra’s—that they had not expected him to visit.

Nor wanted him to.

“Puppy. . .” Dorothea said cautiously when Claude closed the door behind him. Why would she be speaking in that tone?

Then, he started seeing it. The opened drawers, empty shelves, bags and bundles in various stages of being packed. . .

Claude looked at Petra, and her eyes started watering.

“Pet,” he gasped, and he took a step towards her. Why did his voice sound hollow? “What’s going on? I—“

“Don’t come any closer!” Dorothea hissed, moving between him and Petra, one arm held out as if to stop him. Her voice was shaking. Claude tried to look around her at Petra, but she was avoiding looking him in the eyes.

“What’s going on?” Claude repeated. He did not want to believe what his eyes were telling him. But the evidence was overwhelming. His fists clenched. “You’re packing to—were you going to just leave in the dead of night without a word to me?” His voice sounded far more desperate than he liked.

“She was going to tell you,” Dorothea began again, “but we knew if she did not pack first, you would talk her out of it.”

Claude glared down at her. “I’m not really talking to you right now, I’m talking to my girlfriend,” he growled. “And I’m still not hearing an explanation about what the fuck is happening right now.”

Dorothea opened her mouth again.

“No!” Claude shouted. There was a way to fix this. There _had_ to be a way to fix this. He looked to Petra once more. “I don’t want to hear it from Dorothea.” Claude’s voice was quivering. “I want to hear it from you.”

Neither of the girls said anything. Not at first. Petra snuck a glance at Dorothea, who nodded her approval. Something about that _hurt_.

With a shaking hand, Petra pulled out a folded letter and held it in front of her face. “My dearest Petra,” she read in a quivering voice, and Claude’s heart stopped. He was all but positive he knew who that letter was from. “I am sorry that I did—did not tell you what I was doing sooner, but I hope you understand the position I was in. I still. . . consider you to be a close friend and hope that you will remain b-by my side as I declare war on the church.” At that point she started crying in earnest.

“This is bullshit,” Claude growled. He stepped forward again, and this time Dorothea practically shoved him back. For fuck’s sake, his girlfriend was _crying!_“Edelgard can’t just—“

“I look forward to your support, and th—that of all of Brigid,” Petra continued, as if she didn’t hear him. “I will know how to proceed in this war once I hear back from you.” She broke down into heaving sobs as Claude processed what the letter meant. Dorothea was still standing between them, but now she at least had the decency to look pained at doing so.

“She’s threatening them,” Claude murmured, looking painfully past Dorothea at Petra. “She’s threatening your people if you don’t join her?”

Petra nodded mournfully. “I told you. . . I would know it when she would be threatening me.” She took a shaking breath as she _finally_ looked up at him. Eyes of brown met eyes of green. Dorothea’s arm between them wavered.

“Pet,” Claude whispered, “we can fight this. I can protect you. I _promised_ you that—“

“Forget your promise to me,” Petra whispered. She wrapped her arms around her chest, her lower lip quivering as she watched him. “I’m going back to the Empire. That’s why we were having to pack my things before I came to you.”

“You—“ Claude halted in disbelief. He tried a third time to step forward, not caring that Dorothea’s arm dug into his chest. For all intents and purposes, it was like she wasn’t there to him. “Why? Why not at least try to find another option?”

Petra straightened her shoulders, though her chest was still heaving. “I. . . am the princess of Brigid,” she said shakily. Tears continued to pour down her face. “My duty is to my people. And the lives of many are being worth more than my own desires.” Claude blinked, and a tear fell from his eye.

“Petra. . .” Dorothea said, almost warningly. Petra looked at her once again and nodded.

“I am so sorry,” Petra whispered.

Claude failed to find the words to say.

“Claude, you need to go,” Dorothea murmured. Claude neither resisted her nor moved with her as she proceeded to shove him towards the door. He was numb to her words, his eyes not leaving Petra’s. Petra was crying again. Claude hated to see Petra cry. . . “You’re making this harder on her than it has to be, okay? Just leave, just _go_.”

“Petra. . .” Claude said helplessly.

Dorothea reached behind him to open the door.

Petra took a deep, shuddering breath. “Goodbye, Claude.”

Dorothea stepped between them. “Goodbye, Puppy.” Claude thought she might start crying, too.

She slammed the door closed, with him on the other side of it. He heard the lock click.

For a long time—too long a time—Claude stood in front of the door. Pained. Dumbfounded. Disbelieving. At some point, his feet led him toward the dormitory stairs. Claude was barely sure how he made it. His vision was oddly blurry, and everything was wet. As if _enough_ wasn’t going wrong, as if there wasn’t _enough_ to deal with. . . He collapsed to the ground at the base of the stairs, with his face in his hands, and grief and anger overcame him in violent sobs.

Eventually, Claude stood up again. He wanted to crawl in bed, to sleep until this nightmare was over. His legs felt stiff and cold as they climbed up the stairs. The hall was empty, save for a figure leaning against a wooden doorframe. Claude could hear them whispering as he drew closer in the darkness.

“Dimitri,” Marianne pleaded. “Please, just open the door, talk to me. I want to help you. I—“ She straightened when she saw Claude approaching, stubbornly wiping her face with the back of her hand. Wordlessly, without anything else he could do, Claude pulled his friend into a hug. “He won’t see me,” she whispered. “I tried talking with Felix and Sylvain a—and Ingrid, but they can’t get through to him, either. Neither can Dedue. He won’t speak with any of us. He—“ She shuddered, soft cries being heaved into Claude’s shoulder.

“I know,” he whispered, “I know.”

“Did you know they were step-siblings?” Marianne said, so quietly that even with her lips so close to his ear, Claude almost did not hear her. He tensed up, knowing immediately that Marianne was referring to Edelgard. Who else could anyone be talking about that day? “He told me once, not long ago. He does not think she even remembers but. . . Regardless, I think he is taking her assault personally. And I don’t know what to do to help him. I don’t—“

“Sh, sh,” Claude said soothingly as Marianne collapsed into more sobs. He stood where he was, stroking her hair until she was more calm again. Then, he cupped her chin and lifted her face toward him. “Get some sleep. It won’t do you any good to cry at his door.” He struggled to find the words to comfort her, but he did not want to leave her just with that. “If he needs to be alone. . . Let him. We all deal with grief differently.”

“You’ve been crying, too,” Marianne realized. Her eyes flashed with understanding. “Petra,” she said. Tears began flowing down Claude’s face against his will, and Marianne’s emotions reflected his. She pulled him closer, and together, they took a moment to grieve what the start of the war was already taking from them.

At last, Marianne pulled away. She kissed Claude’s cheek with trembling lips, whispered something he did not hear, then sullenly trudged back to her room. Claude followed suit not long after.

He closed his eyes and willed a sleep that would not come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Petra’s face. That sad, frightened face.

If only he could get her to open the door again, just talk to her alone. . . No, there was no way in hell Dorothea was going to leave his girlfriend’s side. _Ex-girlfriend_, Claude corrected sullenly. But he did not want to believe it. His mind struggled to find a way to just _fix_ everything, though he knew that would be impossible. Short of stopping the war, Claude doubted there was anything he could do to get Petra to open her door for him again.

Gods, Claude just wanted to stop thinking.

There was a knock on his door late in the night. Claude debated on not answering it, until the thought crossed his mind that it might be Petra. Could he really risk missing the opportunity to talk with her one last time? He pulled himself off the bed, rubbed his face, then opened the door.

“Thank the goddess, you’re awake,” Byleth said. She was dressed in her usual armor, though the upcoming battle would not be until days later. In her hands was a ledger that Claude was having a surprisingly hard time reading upside down. Byleth’s eyes had not left the pages. “I was discussing weapon distribution with Catherine and we encountered a supply issue that I think you can help me with. You were always the best at math, even if you say other—“ When she finally looked up, her brow furrowed. “I’ve clearly caught you at the wrong time.”

Claude tried—and failed miserably—to smile. “Isn’t the point of war that no time is a good time?” He half-believed that. The other half of him just didn’t want to start crying again. He reached for the ledger. “Let me see that, I’m sure I can help with whatever the issue is.”

Byleth snapped the ledger shut, pulling it away from him. “Don’t deflect me,” she said. Then, after a deep breath, “If there’s something wrong, I. . . You don’t have to tell me what it is, but you can still tell me to come back later. This can wait until the morning, it doesn’t have to be looked at tonight.”

Claude lowered his gaze and leaned against the door frame. Her eyes were too piercing, too knowing for his liking. Would Byleth try to stop Petra if she knew she was leaving for the Empire? Claude wasn’t sure. He thought of how empty Petra’s room had looked. Based on the urgency in which they were packing, he doubted that Dorothea and Petra would still be on the monastery grounds much longer, if they were even still there. It wasn’t against the rules to leave, but they would likely still sneak out to avoid confrontation of any sort. Gods, the thought of Petra having to leave in the dead of night like a fugitive made Claude—

“Petra broke up with me,” Claude blurted. “She got a letter from Edelgard, threatening to bring the war to Brigid if Petra did not side with her.” His lip began to quiver as he took a long, shaking breath. He still could not stand to look at Byleth, so he opted to stare at the floor instead. “I understand the choice she made for her people. But to just—I can’t help but. . .” He watched Byleth’s hands raise toward him, hesitate, then lower again as she took half a step back. Probably for the best. Claude was feeling far more raw than he liked, and it seemed cruel to seek out Byleth of all people for comfort. “This fucking _sucks_,” he cried. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Byleth remained still for several moments, as neither moved nor said anything. When Claude looked up at her, her face was calculating, and those green eyes of hers were wide open. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Claude laughed breathily. “For what? It’s not like you caused this.”

“Except that. . . I may have,” Byleth said.

Claude furrowed his brow. He tried to understand what she had said, to comprehend how it could possibly be her fault—her of all people—but the fog from crying had not yet left his brain. “How. . .” he asked numbly.

Byleth fidgeted, rubbing along the lines of the scars on her hands where they had been broken. “Can I please come in to explain?”

Claude hesitated, then shook his head. “It hardly seems appropriate at the moment.”

Understanding crossed Byleth’s face, and she flushed, averting her gaze. “Right. . .” she murmured. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

Looking around the hall, Claude stepped out of the doorway and closed his door, leaning up against it with his arms crossed. “It’s not like anyone is hanging out here.”

Byleth nodded. She mirrored his stance by crossing her own arms. “Petra asked to speak with me privately late this morning,” she began. “She said she had a hypothetical question for me. I thought it strange at the time, though I guess now I understand what she meant by it. . .” She took a breath to steady herself, then looked up at Claude with pleading eyes. “If I was on the battlefield with my father and his mercenaries, and if I had to make the choice between saving the lives of all of the mercenaries in our group except my father, or to save just my father, who would I choose?”

Claude gulped, his throat was becoming sore. “And you told her you would save the other mercenaries?” he guessed.

Byleth nodded, her eyes filled with regret. “Without hesitation,” she whispered. “I told her the lives of many were worth more than my own desires.” Claude sucked in a low, sharp breath. “She thanked me and left right after. . . Claude, if I had known—“

“You did the right thing,” Claude told her weakly. As much as he wanted to feel hurt or betrayed, he knew the truth of his own words. And he was tired of finding reasons to be angry. “To sacrifice her whole country for her relationship with me. . . Many lives would have been lost for no reason.” Byleth nodded slowly. “Thank you. . . For telling me.”

“It’s the least I can do after indirectly telling your girlfriend to break up with you.”

Claude huffed.

“We can’t seem to catch a break, can we?” Byleth laughed darkly to herself. “Does it ever feel to you, like you and I are tied to two opposite ends of a rope, and that any time one of us does something it tugs the other?”

_You have no fucking idea_. “Maybe,” Claude said. He tried to keep his tone indifferent. Because there was no way in hell he was going to tell her _exactly_ how connected they might be, not after what had just happened. “It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen this year.”

“I really am sorry,” Byleth whispered. Claude locked eyes with her, and he couldn’t pull away. His chest felt like it was being torn in two, and he feared that he might start crying _again_. Gods this was just a fucked up day. “About everything.”

Claude shook his head, finally able to break her gaze. He ran a hand through his hair as he collected his thoughts. “I thought I already said that you didn’t need to apologize to me anymore,” he murmured.

“You did.” A beat of silence. “But it still felt worth saying.”

Claude chuckled humorlessly. He hardly felt like he deserved anyone’s apologies. “Enough about me. How are you holding up?” he asked her. “With the upcoming battle?” He did his best to smile.

Byleth tried to smile back. “I’m alive, but exhausted. I’ve hardly slept these last few days.” She limply held up the ledger. “It’s probably why I’m having such a hard time with this. I used to keep financial records and manage budgets for my dad’s mercenary group, so there’s no reason I should be struggling with this.”

“I can still help if you need it,” Claude offered. “With anything you need. You used to always come to me for advice on mission tactics, after all.”

Byleth sighed loudly. “You’re right. And I definitely need your help, if you’re up for it. But if you need time to deal with the breakup—“

“No,” Claude said, though he wasn’t sure he meant it. “There will be time to deal with it after the battle. For now, I’d rather bury my feelings under work. I can’t afford to be useless with everything going on right now.” That much at least was true.

“I’d normally argue with you, but. . . There’s so much to do,” Byleth admitted. “In some ways, it’s like every other mission. Make sure my students have enough supplies, weapons are in good shape, study the layout of the land, come up with the best tactics. . . But it feels different.” She wiped at her eye. “I mean. . . I spoke with Edelgard on a regular basis. She would come in every week or so just to pick my brain on battle strategies and ask me about my experiences as a mercenary, even when everyone else. . .” Her eyes widened. “Goddess, she was using me. . . I’m such a fool.”

“You’re not a fool,” Claude insisted. He still felt tired, so it lacked the emphasis he wanted. “We were all distracted by the stupid superficial things, like the ball, and the Battle of Eagle and Lion, and. . . and everything else.” Claude looked into Byleth’s eyes, those clear sea-foam green pools and saw her guilt still present. It was enough to make him want to look away again. But he didn’t.

The corner of Byleth’s mouth twitched upward. “It’s hard to focus on who might secretly be raising an army against you when you’re dealing with the knowledge that your perfectionist professor can turn back time.”

Claude snorted, and even Byleth let out a small chuckle. “Tell me something, Teach,” Claude said, a thought crossing his mind. Byleth raised her eyebrows. “I—we. . .” What was the best way to ask? “I know we never. . . Talk about your gift.”

Byleth frowned. “My curse.”

“Your _gift_,” Claude said stubbornly. He frowned in turn. “Why. . . Why not start over? Rewind time before all of this happened and—I don’t know, talk Edelgard out of this? Stop her before it all comes to war?” _Before Petra is forced to leave me_, he almost said but didn’t. “How does your power work, anyway?”

Byleth smiled sadly at him. “You know, a small part of me misses your incessant questioning,” she whispered. She looked down at her hands. “It doesn’t work that way. My. . . Ability. It drains on my energy. The longer or more often I turn back time, the more exhausted I become.” She chuckled to herself. “The longest I ever managed to turn back time was the time I—the day you told me you remembered events that never happened. And I panicked. And I rewound an entire day. . .” She cleared her throat. “I think over the next two days I slept between thirty and forty hours.”

“Shit,” Claude sighed. Byleth nodded, still looking at her hands.

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while. “So even if you had tried to go back far enough to stop Edelgard. . . she still likely would have already had her army marching this way, everything in place. . .”

“It would have been pointless.”

Claude realized then that Byleth’s eyes were watering.

“Even if that wasn’t the case. . . I still haven’t tried turning back time since the day my father died. I’m afraid I won’t be able to. . . I don’t know how I’m going to do this on my own,” she whispered.

“You’re not alone, Teach,” Claude whispered back. “Far from it.” Then, because that sounded too personal, and his heart was hurting and he kept seeing Petra’s face and—“All of the Golden Deer have your back,” he told her. A wave of grief overcame him, and he found himself blinking back tears. He didn’t like that he felt as though talking with Byleth was a betrayal in some way. He especially didn’t like that he was unsure who he was betraying more, Petra or himself.

As if she knew what he was feeling, Byleth took a step further into the hallway. “I will come back tomorrow,” she whispered. “Get some rest. The next few days leading up to Edelgard’s attack will be grueling.” She hesitated,as if she were going to say something else, then shook her head, walking further away. “Goodnight, Claude.”

Claude nodded as she turned her back to him.

“Goodnight. . .”

He went back in his room and closed the door behind him.

_Byleth. . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My initial intention was to have Edelgard’s reveal and the invasion all be posted in one chapter. Buuuuut the word count was about double my usual chapter word count, so I had to split it into two due to editing times. The invasion will have to wait until next Sunday :(
> 
> On an unrelated note, if anyone wants to chat about that new DLC announcement, talk to me!! I have FEELINGS about it!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard’s army marches onto Garreg Mach, leaving its residents no choice but to stand their ground against her.

The monastery’s residents had been on high alert since Edelgard’s declaration of war. There were no more classes, no more missions. Trainings, however, still happened routinely. Every student who chose to stay and fight had to be in top form before the enemy arrived. The “enemy,” Claude reminded himself daily, who used to be their classmate and friend. But Edelgard was a friend no longer. How could she be, after this?

Along with his training, Claude was given other responsibilities. It had been drawn to the attention of the Holy Knights (in no small part thanks to Byleth and Shamir) that Claude had a shrewd mind for strategy. He was asked to sit in on meetings daily, where he offered advice on weapon distribution, how to evacuate the surrounding citizens, even on where to set up defenses. “I had the same thought,” Catherine murmured, her finger tracing out one of Claude’s plans on a map. She looked up at him with a smirk. “I’m impressed, kid.” The small part of him that was still a fan of hers tried not to grin like an idiot at the compliment. “Where did you learn so much?”

_In my father’s war room_, Claude thought, sobering himself. But he gave her his winning smile, and even added in a wink for good measure. “I just have a really good teacher,” he said.

Near the end of the Lone Moon, a report came in that Edelgard’s army would be at Garreg Mach’s gates the next day. Any preparations that still needed to be done were rushed into place. When a war meeting was held in the Golden Deer classroom, he was invited to join. He thought transforming his classroom into a war room was rather dark, but there was a lack of other spaces to use. According to Rhea, the classrooms had served as war rooms before, long ago in a different era. Claude thought it was pretty fucked up for a church to be a place for war in any era.

He was looking over some old blueprints of an underground city that was supposedly right beneath the monastery, when he heard Byleth mutter, “dammit” under her breath. Claude looked up instinctively. It was then that he realized the room was empty, save for the two of them.

When had everyone else left?

_Ugh, it doesn’t even matter_, Claude thought in annoyance. He was still trying to find an escape route in case Edelgard’s army managed to break into the walls. At the moment the only plan in place was to “have faith,” and Claude did not think that was practical enough. However, once he became aware of the fact that he and Byleth were the only ones in the room, he could not stop sneaking glances at her.

Byleth was drawing out. . . something on the chalkboard. It was hard to tell what, because she kept erasing parts and scribbling over them repeatedly, cursing under her breath all the while. As Claude watched her work, he began to notice other little things, such as the fact that for the first time since Edelgard’s declaration of war, Byleth was not wearing her armor. Instead, she wore a simple pair of pants and a cotton shirt. It looked as if it had been tucked into the pants at one point, but now the back was sticking out. Odd, for Byleth to be so unkept, so indecisive.

It was very much not like Byleth.

“What’s going on?” Claude asked.

Byleth froze. Slowly, she set down the piece of chalk in her hand and wiped off her fingers. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

“Because you’re acting strange.”

Byleth huffed in reply. She still had not turned to look at him. “How is it that you think you have come to read me so easily?”

“We used to be friends once, you know,” Claude said. He meant for his tone to be teasing, but between the weariness he felt and the lingering pain of Petra leaving him, it came out more bitter. At least it got Byleth to look at him. “Why have you been prepared for a battle every day except today?”

Byleth opened her mouth then shut it again, her words seeming to fail her. She untied a woven chord from her wrist and used it to pull back her hair. “Because of that report. . . If Edelgard is not to arrive until tomorrow morning, then I knew for certain that we would be safe today. Meaning it might be my last day to feel normal. . . I can’t explain it further than that.”

Claude nodded, thinking he understood what she meant. Nobody wanted to admit it, but there was every possibility that they would all be completely wiped out the next day. Those who had chosen to stay—or had no other option—could just as much be seen as enemies as the church members whom Edelgard declared war against. The hours left until they would know for sure were numbered. “Let’s get some air,” Claude said gently. “If you want to feel normal, you won’t do it here. We’re useless at this point anyway.” He straightened his back then reached for his coat and scarf. Byleth remained in place, watching him. “Come on, Teach.” He smiled at her. “Doctor’s orders.”

“I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt. . .” Byleth pulled on her own coat, then the knitted scarf and cap that Claude thought looked just a bit too big on her. When she was ready, the pair silently walked out into the night. The air was cold, but Claude was happy to be out of that room. And he knew Byleth needed the break, too. He hadn’t seen her stop moving since the Holy Tomb. “It’s the first time the sky has been clear enough to see the stars in ages.”

Claude looked straight up. He exhaled a puff of steamy air that dissipatedinto the night. “I think you’re right. Maybe it’s a sign of victory tomorrow.”

Byleth chuckled. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I tend to think of the stars as a good omen. They remind me of my home, my childhood, the few happy moments I had in my past. Especially when they shine bright on dark days.”

“Ah,” Byleth said, amusement in her tone. Claude glanced down at her, and she was smiling. He felt his face flush. Even though it was likely too dark for her to tell, Claude burrowed his face in his scarf and looked back up at the sky. Petra was gone, she had been for over two weeks, but it felt wrong to enjoy Byleth’s company. Especially now that he was spending most of his time with her again to prepare for the attack. Claude at least found it fortunate that their time was filled with strategies and numbers and weapons and defense maneuvers rather than stories and jokes and laughter. That did something to ease the guilt. “You’re thinking about Petra,” Byleth stated, nothing in her voice indicating a question. Claude did not look at her. Snowflakes began to drift through the air towards him, tiny clusters of white dancing in the breeze.

“It still feels like a joke,” he murmured. “Like some sick, twisted joke that was said so fast I didn’t have the time to realize it was supposed to insult me.”

“You mean her breaking up with you?”

Claude shrugged. “All of it.”

Byleth sighed, and Claude could hear the sound of her clothing rustling together as she shifted positions. He wondered if she was getting cold. He certainly was. “A good professor would probably tell you not to worry about it. You’ll feel better with a little perspective, everything will be okay. . .”

“But a great professor wouldn’t lie to me.”

Byleth laughed. “An ironic choice of words there.”

“I knew what I was saying, and I meant it,” Claude chuckled.

Byleth hummed in reply.

“I know we might die tomorrow.”

“. . . It’s not a very fun thought, is it?”

Claude considered that for a moment. “I don’t mind the idea of seeing Hadassah again,” he whispered. “But if I’m being honest, I’d like to stay alive for a little while longer. There’s still some things I’d like to take care of.”

“Oh, yeah. I seem to recall you having a very large dream once that you wanted to see come to fruition?”

Claude chuckled. Yes, there was his dream of ending the strife between Almyra and the Leicester Alliance. And according to Sothis, there was something larger, as insane as that seemed. Something large enough to be the End of three nations. Claude vaguely wondered if Sothis’s prediction and his dream were not unrelated. “Yes, I still have a dream. A very large dream. One that I cannot do on my own.”

“Because you were supposed to accomplish it with Hadassah?”

_By Byleth’s side._

“Something like that.”

Claude regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Not only did it feel like he was deflecting Byleth needlessly, but. . . didn’t Byleth have the right to know about Sothis’s prediction? He had been thinking of that more and more over the last several days. After all, was keeping Sothis’s prediction from Byleth any different from Byleth lying to Claude about her ability to turn back time? Gods, he could not stand the idea of having that fight all over again. And. . . when he really thought about it, Claude realized he was only afraid of telling her because he was interpreting “by Byleth’s side” as being romantic. He still was not completely convinced that his assumption of the implications was correct, anyway. He could just be by Byleth’s side as an ally. . .

As a friend. . .

Would it really be so bad, to bring about a new age with her?

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Claude said.

“Hmm? For what?”

“For what I—I said inside, that we used to be friends. Implying that we aren’t now.” Claude shuffled his feet. “But. . . You are my friend. At least I think so. And if we don’t make it out of here alive tomorrow, then I should probably tell you now that—“

Byleth put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. “No,” she said sternly. “Don’t tell me something out of fear of dying. Let it be your motivation to stay alive on the battlefield, okay?” Claude blinked, stunned. Byleth’s face softened as she lowered her hand again. “I’ll let it be my motivation, too.”

“O-okay, Teach,” Claude stammered. His heart skipped a beat, yet for the first time in weeks, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. The conversation with Sothis no longer felt like a darkly-kept secret rather just than a conversation that was yet to happen. Yeah. . . Okay. He would tell Byleth tomorrow. They didn’t have to win the battle, just survive the day. When everything else had been taken care of, and they were finally safe again, he would tell her what Sothis had said. Claude smiled. “Then I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Good.” Byleth’s own smile faltered as she shuddered dramatically. “But for now, I think I might be frozen stiff,” she said, shuffling her feet to get the snow off her boots. “I should be getting back inside, anyway. The Holy Knights were going to do a final review of my plan before first light, so any adjustments I’m going to make need to be done before I go to bed.” She took a step toward the classroom, then turned. “Are you coming?”

Claude looked into her eyes. The eyes of a goddess, impossibly green and holding the power to draw out every thought, every secret from his mind. He felt his face flush again. And even though he was freezing. . . “Not yet,” he said to her. “I’d like to look up at the stars for a little longer.”

When Claude left his room the following dawn, armor on, axe attached to his belt, and bow in hand, the doors to every other dormitory were wide open, the rooms inside empty. Even Dimitri was nowhere to be found, though Claude wasn’t sure if that comforted or terrified him. He hurried down the stairs, heading for the mess hall to grab some food before the fight broke out. It was the most packed that Claude had ever seen it, though nobody was sitting down save for a few of the monks and nuns that had a permanent residence in the monastery. Most of them had evacuated with the orphans and the students who couldn’t fight, but a few refused to leave, no matter the danger. They considered it abandoning their faith. The fools.

Men and women clad in armor rushed through the line to grab food then leave again. Claude grabbed a piece of bread and followed them out towards the main gate while shoving it in his mouth. Why the hell did nobody wake him up? He hurried towards the front of the monastery grounds. Alastair was not at his post, and somehow that made the whole thing feel more real. Claude ignored his racing heartbeat as he trudged down the stairs. Soldiers were rushing all around him with spears in hand.

When he exited the gates, nearly every knight that occupied the monastery was standing at attention in a solid line. Claude couldn’t see anything in the distance that indicated the battle had already started ahead, which gave him some relief. Still, he needed to find his class.

He needed to find Byleth.

A streak of green out of the corner of his eye pulled Claude’s attention. Rhea was walking along the line of soldiers, flanked by Seteth and Flayn as she gave each of the men and women encouraging words. She met Claude’s eye, and her jaw set in determination. “Lady Rhea,” Claude greeted her formally. “Did I miss something? Nobody came to wake me.”

“No, not technically,” Rhea replied. “A scout returned an hour ago and said Edelgard’s army was right behind him. We were going to wait to wake the students until we could see them on the horizon, which as you can see, hasn’t happened yet.” She looked at him regretfully. “It seems everyone was anxious for the battle to begin.”

“That makes sense,” Claude said, more to himself than to her. “The sooner the fighting begins, the sooner we can end it.” Rhea smiled gently at him and pat his cheek. He resisted the urge to flinch.

“Have faith,” she said. “We will make it through this day. It is the goddess’s will.”

Claude nodded slightly. He thought of his conversation with the young green-haired being. She certainly seemed fond of him and Byleth, but after her fusion with the professor, did Sothis even have a will of her own anymore? Was her will the same as Byleth’s? He held his tongue, afraid to reveal any of these things to the archbishop unintentionally. The thought crossed Claude’s mind not for the first time that, perhaps once things had settled again, he would give Rhea his usual offer. A secret for a secret. He certainly had some questions for the woman.

“Are you looking for the professor?” Flayn asked, unintentionally saving him from saying something he would regret.

“Yes,” Claude replied. “Do you know where she is?”

“She insisted on taking the front lines, right in the center. Your classmates all chose to follow her, loyal lambs,” Rhea said.

“Loyal or naive,” Seteth muttered. He at least had the decency to look chagrined after he said it. “They’re still just children. They shouldn’t be at the front lines.” Flayn glared up at him then took a step away.

“I’ll go with you, Claude,” she said, stepping forward and taking his hand. “Come. Let us find them.”

“Thank you,” Claude murmured once they were far enough away that the two church heads would not hear him. Flayn nodded curtly.

“That should be my line,” she said quietly. “My—Seteth wanted me to remain in the back. . . But I want to stand by my friends. You just gave me the opportunity.”

Claude smiled weakly, squeezing her hand. “Then I’ll be happy to fight by your side today.”

Flayn’s cheeks colored slightly, but she said nothing. In moments, they reached the front lines. Byleth stood tall and strong, the Sword of the Creator on her hip, and her Golden Deer on either side of her. Claude noticed Cyril was also among his peers, next to Lysithea, wearing a mismatched set of armor made of leather and metal alike. To the right, the remaining few Black Eagles were poised in armor, guarded by Manuela. To the left, Hanneman and his Blue Lions mirrored Manuela’s position. Dimitri stood in front of the rest of them, unnervingly still with lance in hand. Claude’s eyes sought out Marianne, and as he feared, she was watching the prince longingly. He let go of Flayn’s hand and stepped up behind Marianne.

“You shouldn’t be here if you can’t focus,” he whispered. Marianne jumped slightly. “If he’s going to distract you—“

“No,” Marianne said with a finality that Claude did not expect. She glanced back at him. “I’ve done enough hiding in my life. I will not cower while my friends fight.”

Claude nodded, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop her without causing a scene. He patted Marianne’s shoulder comfortingly then left to stand beside Byleth. She had dark bags under eyes. “No sleep?”

Byleth chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Some. But not enough.”

“If we get through today, I’ll make sure that Rhea allows you to take a nice, long, well-deserved nap.”

Byleth chuckled, still looking ahead. “Before or after we have that talk?” she asked. And that’s when Claude heard it. It was faint, at first, then all chatter around him stopped, and Claude could distinctly hear the rhythmic beat of a thousand pairs of boots marching together.

Closer. . .

Closer.

Boom.

Boom.

_Boom_.

Byleth drew her sword, poising it in both hands. “Are you ready?”

Claude fidgeted with his bow. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Edelgard’s men came hard and fast. There were countless more of them than anyone at the monastery could have anticipated. The church had will on their side, but it wasn’t enough. Any time Claude thought they were making a dent, more soldiers crowded them in. For every soldier slain, three replaced them.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Dimitri growled, his back pressed against Claude’s. When had the two of them ended up beside each other?

Where was Byleth?

“Have you seen Teach?” Claude shouted, driving his blade into another man’s chest. Dimitri impaled a man in the neck with his spear then shook his head.

“Not for half an hour or so. . .” he muttered. Dimitri looked up, and Claude envied the other man’s towering height. No doubt he could easily see over the heads of the oncoming enemies. “Up ahead. With Lady Rhea.” He shifted the spear in his hands and swung wide, creating a gap between him and Claude, and the Empire soldiers. “Follow me!”

Claude didn’t question it. He allowed Dimitri to clear a path ahead of them, eyes focused on the two green-haired figures barely visible in the distance, and sword slashing at anyone who tried to close them in from behind. It quickly became unnecessary. A crack like thunder split the sky, and where Rhea and Byleth had stood, a great white beast towered above the neighboring town. It roared in anger, shaking the ground beneath its feet. As Claude gaped at it, he briefly thought back to the books Tomas—no, Solon—had lent him, and. . . Had they not mentioned the “words of a dragon?” Could it truly be referring to a race of people who could turn into. . .

By its feet, a woman with mint green hair staggered out of the way of its claws. She staggered, hesitated, then sprinted back toward the monastery. Claude could tell by the armor that it was Byleth, and he wondered if that meant Rhea had turned into the white dragon. Were that not the case, she would have been crushed by the beast. At the very least, she was no longer by Byleth’s side.

The dragon opened its mouth, and a beam of searing light struck the soldiers running toward it, charring them into dust. The Empire soldiers nearest to Dimitri and Claude were no longer paying them any mind, either staring blankly or running in fear from the beast that had suddenly appeared. Claude took advantage of the chaos and _ran_, leaving the prince behind. He had to reach Byleth. He had to keep her safe. When Byleth saw him, she changed direction to meet him.

Another animalistic cry broke out, and Byleth stopped to look back at the dragon-that-might-be-Rhea. Several demonic beasts, near identical to the ones they had fought on the day of Jeralt’s death, were among the ranks of the Empire army. They charged at the dragon all at once, forcing it to crash into the wall of a nearby building. Byleth turned back to Claude, gesturing for him to stay, then ran back the way she had come from.

Claude did not listen.

He ran faster, more desperate to reach her than he had been before. He could see her extend the blade of the Sword of the Creator, striking one of the beasts in the eye and knocking the rest off of the white dragon’s back. Claude’s lungs were burning. He kept running. The beasts were focused on her. Dear gods, how was she going to face them all at once?!

The hair on the back of Claude’s neck stood up.

Claude halted, gripped with fear. He knew that feeling.

The pale man, the one who stopped Byleth from saving her father, who crushed Claude’s hands without so much as touching him, who Claude suspected of being at the center of everything he had endured at Garreg Mach, appeared right in front of him, flanked by two soldiers.

Claude raised his weapon, and the man pushed him down with an unseen force. The two men he had with him pinned Claude’s arms, forcing him to remain on the ground. No matter how Claude struggled, he could not escape their grasp.

The man huffed, like removing Claude from the equation was like swatting a fly that was buzzing in his face. Nothing more than a mere nuisance. He turned back to Byleth, a dark glowing orb forming in his hands. Without moving, he thrust the orb forward.

Straight into Byleth’s chest.

_No, no no!_

She flew back twenty feet, landing at the base of the mountainside cliff. The weight and force of her landing caused the ground under her feet to crumble. Claude could just make out the fear on her face as she looked out towards him.

And the ground fell out beneath her.

“B

Y

L

E

T

H

!

N

O

,

O

H

F

U

C

K

O

H

G

o

d

s

No,

Byleth!” Claude cried. “Byleth!” The pale man looked down at Claude, his mouth tilted upward in a satisfied smirk. Claude growled and spit at the man. His grin faltered.

“The Emperor wanted to speak with this one,” he said in an almost bored manner. “Lock him away somewhere, then notify her of his capture.” The two men stood up, their hands gripped firmly around Claude’s arms as they lifted him upward. One of them produced a rope and bound his hands tightly behind his back. Claude looked out toward the white dragon, desperately hoping that it would come to save him.

But it wasn’t there.

Nor were the demonic beasts.

Nor was. . .

_Byleth_.

The Empire must have taken the dragon, though in what state—or form—Claude did not know. He struggled against his attackers, but they were bigger, taller, stronger than he was. They hardly seemed to notice his fight. The large amount of red banners intermingled with armor as they marched towards the monastery told Claude that the area was fully occupied by the Empire now. He looked for his classmates amongst the bodies that they passed laying limp on the ground, and was relieved when he did not see them. Still, he found himself unsure whether that meant his friends had fled or been captured. He prayed for the former.

When the three of them crossed the threshold into Garreg Mach, there was no more fighting. Claude’s allies were lined up, bound by the hand as he was and removed of any weaponry to fight back. They looked defeated as their eyes met his. Claude imagined he looked the same.

Something was on fire. Claude could smell the smoke. And a handful of the buildings were reduced to rubble by canon blasts. Had there actually been canon blasts? Claude couldn’t remember. He was barely able to process the events of the last few hours. Gods, the sun wasn’t even at its highest point in the sky yet.

_And Byleth. . ._

The two armed men dragged him towards the academy. While one held Claude in place, the other checked inside the Golden Deer classroom and stepped out a moment later. “No holes,” the man said. The pair of soldiers flung Claude inside and closed the door behind him. Claude collapsed to his knees, panting. He had to think quickly. His hands were bound, but was there any way to escape? His eyes wandered to the window at the front of the class. He got up, ran toward it. If anything, he could throw his body through it and run. Through the glass, he could see three armed men standing at attention.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t take precautions with you?”

Claude slowly turned around towards the person entering the room. The smug look on Edelgard’s face enraged him.

“You,” Claude growled. He stalked towards her. “You back-stabbing, murderous, vile, cowardly—“ When he was within arm’s reach of the emperor, she punched him in the jaw. Claude spit blood, a violent snarl curling his lip. “Bitch.”

“Sorry,” Edelgard said, laughing breathily as she flexed her fingers. “A small part of me has always wanted to do that.”

“Oh, a small part?”

“You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know.”

Claude spat at her. “Why are you even here!” Edelgard raised an eyebrow at him.

“I agreed to a talk, didn’t I? I was on my way back here anyway, it seemed like a good time.” Annoyance was thick in Edelgard’s tone. Claude watched her as she calmly walked over to a nearby desk and pulled out two of the chairs that were tucked underneath it, so that they faced each other. “Sit,” she said as she sat down herself. Claude didn’t move. “C’mon, Claude. Indulge me.”

Claude rolled his eyes, grudgingly taking the seat across from her. “Can you at least untie my hands so I can sit comfortably?”

Edelgard smiled condescendingly at him. “And risk you trying to strangle me? No. I hardly think so. This won’t take long though, I promise.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

Edelgard looked. . . hurt by the question. “Of course not,” she said. “Look, I meant what I said to you in the tomb, okay? My battle isn’t with you, or the Alliance. I will be more than happy to send you back home to your grandfather with your tail between your legs, but I need a little. . . assurance first. And in return, I’m willing to answer any questions you have about the rocky beginning of our relationship. Are we in agreement?”

Claude scoffed. He didn’t have much of a choice but to listen to what she had to say, but he wasn’t going to be nice about it. “Fine,” he snarled. “What do you want to talk about, Your Eminence?”

Edelgard chuckled humorlessly. “You aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Says the girl who punched me while my hands were tied behind my back.”

“Fair enough. . .” Edelgard muttered. “Okay, then, how about this. Do you still play your little game? A secret for a secret? I still have a few questions I want you to answer for me, so it will make the game even.”

Claude glared at her, setting his jaw.

“Don’t worry. I won’t ask for the Alliance’s weaknesses, or anything like that. This is war, after all. I wouldn’t expect you to tell me such a thing.”

Claude huffed.

“I’m trying to be fair about this,” Edelgard growled. She leaned forward in her chair. “Do you really intend on giving me nothing at all?”

“Why don’t you just skip the part where we pretend to be buddies so we can get this over with?”

Edelgard laughed darkly. “I’ll start out, then. Secret number one. I’ve been masquerading under a false identity called the Flame Emperor for the better part of a year now, to obtain allies that would be less likely to follow a teenage girl, or who could not be trusted to know who I was without revealing it to the church behind my back.” She leaned back into her chair, sighing and crossing her arms. “Though of course, you knew that one already. So I guess you can get that one for free.”

_This is bullshit._

“So onto secret number two, I guess,” Edelgard continued. Claude resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I initially encouraged Petra to pursue you because I thought she would be able to wriggle some of your secrets out of you.” Claude’s heart clenched, but Edelgard frowned regardless. “Though apparently you’re as tight-lipped in the bedroom as you are out of it?”

“Are you saying you asked her to spy on me? What the _fuck_, Edie—”

“No, she never knew I had another motive,” Edelgard promised. Still, a wry smile crept on her face, and Claude decided he hated the implications of that smile. “And believe me, compared to the questions Dorothea got her to answer about your sex life, anything I got out of her _paled_ in comparison—“

“Can you not be so casual about this, please?” Claude asked, his face growing unbearably hot. “Believe it or not, I’m still pretty fucking heartbroken from my break-up.” His teeth clenched together. “And thank you for that, by the way.” Claude needed to calm down.For all he knew, humiliation and instigation were part of the plan to get something out of him.

“I am sorry about forcing her hand, truly. If I thought there was any other way to—”

“Fuck off.”

Edelgard sighed. “She did manage to give me something useful, though.” Claude cocked his head to one side. She had to be bluffing, right? Edelgard reached out and tugged on Claude’s braid. Claude resisted the urge to snap at her. “Sign of an unmarried man, yes?” she asked. Claude _seethed_. “Such a simple piece of information, really. Nothing worth noting to anyone who isn’t your lover.” Her purple eyes gleamed. “But a short read on marriage rituals from in and around the continent informed me that only one nation in the surrounding area has such a tradition.” When Claude’s face dropped, she chuckled. “Really, I’m quite a fool for not deducing it earlier, but you’re Almyran, aren’t you?”

Claude huffed at her.

“I suppose that’s why you never wanted to tell anyone where you were from, and it also explains why your mother never came back to visit her family. But that’s not all there is to it, right? I mean, that servant boy Cyril is more or less accepted, if not at least ignored despite his Almyran lineage. No. . . There’s something else, and thanks to a report Hubert managed to find for me, I think I know what it is.” Her smile widened. “So strange, that the crown prince Khalid didn’t attend his sister’s funeral two years ago after she was brutally murdered in her sleep. Isn’t that around the same time that you moved to—?”

Claude leapt out of his chair at her, and she jumped back. But her face was delighted.

“Oh-ho. Touchy, are we? Am I right again?”

“Do not mock my pain!” Claude shouted. His jaw was clenched tight as he leered over the emperor. “You cannot possibly know what it was like to lose my sister, and the sacrifices I made that led to me not being there in her final moments! And if you bring her up again, I will _tear_ your throat out with my teeth!”

Edelgard blinked up at him. “I _do_ know what it’s like to lose siblings,” she corrected carefully. “That’s why I’m starting this war in the first place.”

“That makes no fucking sense.”

“Yet it’s the only explanation you’ll get.” Edelgard gestured for Claude to sit back down, but he remained standing. “You know, I think I liked you better as the carefree, obnoxious flirt. . .”

Claude continued to leer over her.

“Will it make you feel better if I say I’m sorry?”

“Sorry? Sorry!” Claude shouted. He started laughing. “No, Edie. That won’t make me feel better. Because no number of sorry’s will change the fact that you just waged war on the church knowing that your peers would get caught in the cross-hairs, that you threatened my girlfriend to join your side and made her break up with me, or that you sent a psychopath after me at the beginning of the school year!” He scoffed. “Dare I ask if there’s anything else that needs to be added to the list of reasons ‘sorry’ won’t cut it.”

Edelgard shifted uncomfortably. “I was also the one behind the bandit attack the night we met Professor Byleth. . .”

Claude hesitated, hating himself for what he was going to do next, then sat down.

“I might as well get it all off my conscience if I’m going to sit here and listen to you yell at me anyway. . .”

“Why,” Claude asked flatly.

“It was nothing personal,” Edelgard said with a shrug. “It would be easier to attack the church if the nations that supported it were unstable, and the quickest way to do that was to off their future leaders.” Edelgard raised her hands as Claude looked like he was going to launch himself at her again. “_Again_, it was nothing personal. Nor was it personal when I pushed Jacobe Donovan your way. It was just an ends to a means.”

Claude suddenly felt like someone had pushed a boulder onto his shoulders. He started shaking. “So you _are_ the reason I started getting those death threats? You’ll admit to it?”

“We initially weren’t going to act again so soon after the bandits had failed.”_ “We”?_ It wasn’t worth asking her about, Claude realized. Just another question on his growing list. “But as the Flame Emperor, fate brought Jacobe Donovan to me. He offered me his services if I would help him end your life.” Edelgard chuckled. “I conveniently never told him the part where your death would have been helpful in itself. But if it wasn’t for him, I never would have learned that the Sword of the Creator was hidden in Seiros’s tomb. Not that he knew that information directly, of course, but he pointed me in the right direction. He found it strange how well-guarded the tomb was considering nothing was supposed to be down there but a pile of bones. It’s funny, the little things an obsessive perfectionist picks up on—“

“Stop!” Claude shouted. “For fuck’s sake, just stop. Please.” He could hardly wrap his head around everything she was saying. It was like watching the peg on a wheel circle back to its starting point and realizing the wheel had not moved at all. Everything that happened that year, all the pain and conflict, the never-ending list of questions. It was all because of Edelgard. . . All of it. Claude was panting, and the edges of his vision were blurring. He feared that he was going to black out.

Edelgard remained silent, watching him as he forced his breathing to slow in order to collect himself again. But he held onto his anger. It was the only thing keeping him grounded in that room. “Will you answer a question for me?” he muttered, keeping his head down. “Since this is supposed to be ‘equal’ and all, I feel like you at least owe me that.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“The mask,” Claude said. “I never knew why nobody found it in my attacker’s room until I saw you wearing it as the Flame Emperor. . . If you already had a name built up for yourself, why would you let a hitman borrow the symbol of your identity? Was there something you were trying to cover?”

Edelgard started laughing, which caused Claude to look up at her. She looked absolutely delighted, if not a little insane. “Leave it to Claude von Riegan to deduce a portion of my biggest secret without me even saying anything. You know, I was afraid with your fight with Professor Byleth going on, that you had lost some of your clever nature. I’m glad to be corrected.”

“I don’t follow,” Claude growled.

“I _did_ let Jacobe Donovan use my mask to attack you, in order to hide the fact that I tried and failed to kill you first.” She paused briefly to let the words sink in. “I should have been dead when you pushed me out that window, but thanks to a little time rewind, I suddenly found myself repeating the entire day prior to my attempt to kill you.” Claude’s mind started racing again. “So, I never invited you to town for the dance. I never allowed you to get drunk, never followed you up to your room, never attacked you, and never got killed. I merely taught Sir Donovan to teleport as I was taught to do, let him borrow my mask, and sent him to attack you in my stead. That way you wouldn’t notice a change in the timeline that could lead you back to me.” She smiled slightly. Claude’s mouth went slack as he processed her words. “And that is my final secret. I have memories of moments that never happened in this timeline.” She stood up, leaning in so her face was mere inches from Claude’s. “And I’d be willing to bet that your final secret is you’re the one rewinding time.”

“But—“ Claude stammered. “That’s. . .”

“Impossible?” Edelgard finished. “So is manipulating time, Claude, yet here we are.” She straightened her back and started pacing about the room. “When did you first obtain the ability to rewind time? Or was that something you were born with?”

Claude almost corrected her, then he stopped himself. Even if Byleth was. . . gone. . . Claude still had the sense that he should not reveal her secret. Especially not to Edelgard, who was clearly involved with the Death Knight and the man who had broken his hands. Had she been the one to tell them Claude had the gift? “How did you find out it was me?” he asked. Edelgard’s eyes lit up.

“You got sloppy,” Edelgard taunted. “Solon—or Tomas, as you may know him—put the pieces together when you started borrowing books from him about the goddess. Then he told me just before he left the monastery that you had asked him if there was any historical record of the ability to rewind time.” She smirked. “Which is why I personally think you weren’t able to manipulate time until recently after arriving at the monastery, that or you came to Fódlan because of the ability.” She crouched down so her eyes were level with his, waiting for an answer.

Claude hung his head, pretending to look defeated. If he was going to play along with her false assumption, he was going to milk it for all it was worth. Perhaps she would let something slip if he did. “I started having strange dreams around the time my uncle died, and believed they meant I had to come here. But I did not receive the ability until I went to Zanado.”

“Zanado!” Edelgard hissed, jumping up again. “The old home of the goddess. It’s so obvious, I can’t believe I overlooked it.” She began muttering to herself as she resumed her pacing. “Why _you_, though?” Edelgard folded her arms. “Professor Byleth chose you and the goddess did too? I must admit, I’ve been curious if the two incidences were related. Clearly the professor also has the goddess’s favor, otherwise she would not be able to wield the Sword of the Creator. But I understand her part in it. She’s easily the most powerful person I’ve ever met, and must be descended from Nemesis if she bears his crest. . . But you? No offense, you’re a likable guy and all, but what makes you so special?”

“Maybe I’m just pretty to look at?” Claude offered. Edelgard scoffed. “What do you want me to say? Why is it that only you can remember when I rewind time? Can you answer that?”

Edelgard looked genuinely stumped. “I assumed Professor Byleth could remember as well?”

“Of course not,” Claude lied. “What would the chances of that be?”

“So your fight with her. . .” Edelgard’s voice trailed off. “Never mind. I assumed it was connected, but I guess I can’t be right about everything, I guess.”

Claude resisted the urge to laugh. 

“She should have picked me, you know,” Edelgard whispered. “Professor Byleth and I would have been unstoppable together, and I always hated the fact that she chose you over me. . . You get that secret for free too, I guess. It was part of the reason I had such a hard time coming around to the idea of liking you.” She sighed to herself. “I’m going to hate having this conversation with her, as well, because I very well can’t offer her the same deal that I did when—“

“Teach is dead,” Claude cut her off. His anger melted into grief as he said the words out loud. Edelgard halted, staring down at him with wide eyes. “She got pushed over the cliff at the edge of the village. I saw her fall. She’s. . . She’s. . .” Hot tears splattered on Claude’s chest plate, making a soft clinking noise in the silent room. Edelgard turned away from him, and she said nothing for a long time. When she finally spoke again, her voice was shaking.

“Pity,” she whispered. Claude heard her take a deep breath. “I have conditions to letting you go. I’d prefer it if you returned to Almyra, but I can’t very well micromanage you. As a gesture of goodwill, I will keep the secret of your other lineage between you and me. However, I will have to ask for you to keep out of the war.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not the same girl that I was when I tried to have you assassinated, and I’ve grown rather. . . fond of you, against my better judgement. I’d hate to have to kill you, but I will if it comes to that.” She turned to glare down at Claude. Her eyes were rimmed red. “If the Alliance sides against us in this war, or if I even suspect that you are manipulating time to turn the tides against me, I will rain _hell_ down on Leicester like you never thought was possible before. . . You have one hour to pack up all your belongings, then you should never return to this place again.” She marched up to the large wooden door and rapped her knuckles on the surface three times. A soldier entered the room. Edelgard whispered something to him then hastily left the room.

“On you feet,” the soldier said to Claude, stalking towards him. “I’ll take you to get your things.”

He force Claude to stand and led him gruffly by the arm up to the dormitories. “It’s upstairs,” Claude muttered. The man shoved him up the stairs, and Claude showed him which room was his. The soldier forced him to sit on the bed and grabbed a bag, shoving Claude’s belongings haphazardly into it. “I don’t even get to pack my own things?” Claude asked sarcastically.

“No.”

“Then are you at least going to ask me what I actually want to take with me?”

“No,” the man said flatly. He flung the bag over his shoulder. “Don’t care.”

Claude rolled his eyes. He quickly looked around at all the things he had always assumed would go home with him. The handful of books he conveniently never got around to returning to the library, the makeshift apothecary full of herbs he had collected, and the banner that he had stolen from his first mock battle—oh how that felt like a lifetime ago now. And none of it, none of the stuff that really mattered to him, made it into that bag. The soldier forced Claude to stand again and shoved him out the door. “Where are we going?”

“Stables. Some of the other soldiers have been tasked with escorting the students safely back to their home nations.”

“That sounds like a useless, and frankly ironic task.”

“It was commanded by the emperor herself.”

“How sentimental of her,” Claude muttered. The soldier did not reply. When they passed Byleth’s room, a wave of panic washed over Claude. He planted his feet, forcing the soldier to stop. “You need to let me in that room.”

“The hell I do,” the soldier growled. He yanked at Claude’s arm, but he dug his heels in further.

“I need exactly two things from in there, and I know where to find them.” He looked at the soldier pleadingly, hoping to appeal to any sliver of humanity the man may have. “Please. The emperor gave me an hour, and it’s been maybe twenty minutes since then. My friend is dead. Let me protect the things that meant the most to her.”

The soldier rolled his eyes as he yielded. He walked with Claude to Byleth’s room and forced the door open. Claude pushed past him towards his professor’s desk. They had to be there, they just had to. . . “The two leather-bound journals,” Claude told him. He turned around and tried to gesture with one of his bound hands. The soldier dropped Claude’s back unceremoniously and walked beside him.

“These two?” he asked, picking up the two books that had been resting on their sides.

“Yes,” Claude said. The man shoved them in Claude’s bag then grabbed him by the arm again. Claude figured he would have to find a way to properly thank Sothis for the stroke of good luck later. Byleth’s diary was guaranteed to be in her room, but Jeralt’s diary very well could have been in his own study. If Claude had been unable to retrieve either of them, he never would have forgiven himself.

He was led to the stables, where more Empire soldiers were herding students onto saddles and leading them out of the monastery. One soldier untied Claude’s hands as the first one saddled a horse and secured his bag to its side. “Just because we’re untying you doesn’t mean we aren’t watching you,” the second soldier said lazily as she looped the rope over her arm. “We can always bind your hands again.”

“Loud and clear,” Claude muttered, rubbing his wrists. He recognized the horse beside him as Dorte. Marianne loved that horse, he remembered. Claude told himself he would cause no trouble, if only for the horse’s sake. He hopped onto Dorte’s back and waited for the soldiers to tell him to move. Like a good soldier.

The longer he sat on the horse’s back, the more the events of the last several days settled in. But he felt no pain now. Only numbness. Edelgard betrayed them. Petra left him. They lost the battle. Byleth was dead. Edelgard remembered time rewound as Claude thought only he could. . .

_“What makes you so special?” I wish I knew, Edie._

When Claude looked up again, the day was darkening. Dorte was following the horse in front of him down a mountain trail leading into the Leicester Alliance. It was the same path Claude had ridden with Judith the last time he went to visit his grandfather. Claude didn’t remember leaving the monastery, and now he was at least a half day’s ride away from Garreg Mach. . .

And Byleth was still dead.

“Claude?” Hilda’s voice whispered.

He looked up again, and he was sitting in front of a fire. The night was dark. When had he dismounted? Hilda cupped his face. Blood and sweat and dirt caked her usually-pristine face. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and she was still wearing her armor. “Where’s your axe?” Claude asked absently. The Empire soldiers surrounding them gave him threatening looks, and Hilda’s eyes filled with worry.

“We aren’t fighting anymore. . .” she said slowly. “You haven’t been responsive all day. Do. . . Do you remember what happened?”

Claude looked around. There were other teenagers around the fire, looking sullen as he felt. Some were from the other Golden Deer classes. Claude thought he recognized Raphael’s hulking frame in the shadows. None of the students were from the Blue Lions or Black Eagles. No Sylvain, no Caspar, Linhardt, or Flayn. Gods, what was Flayn going to do? Did she escape? Were her and Seteth going to be executed as members of the church?

Had they been executed already?

“Did you hear me?”

“What?” Claude asked. Hilda was still watching him intently. She gently pushed a bowl into his hands.

“You need to eat,” she said. Her eyes were watering. “Please.”

Claude took the bowl and began eating. He wasn’t sure what he ate, or how long it took him to eat it. When he was done, Hilda took the bowl from him again and sat beside him, watching the fire.

“Is it true?” she whispered, hugging her knees close to her chest. “The professor. . .?”

“It’s true,” Claude whispered. Hilda reached out and squeezed his hand. Claude had the vaguest notion that he should squeeze it back, or give her a few comforting words, or something. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he could do was sit and wait. Hilda withdrew her hand again. They sat together until the fire reduced to embers and everyone else fell asleep on the hard ground beneath them. “You should sleep,” Claude said.

“You first,” Hilda replied.

When the sun rose, the guards shook the shoulders of the Golden Deer students and told them to ready their horses once again. Claude got onto his with no issue, save for a slight blur in his vision and a mental fog he could not shake. He did not notice anything going on around him until well into the afternoon when one of the female students screamed. Her horse had slipped on a loose rock, having walked too close to the edge of the cliff. Instinctively, Claude reached for her reigns and pulled the horse back up before it completely lost its balance and toppled over the edge. The girl looked up at him with wide eyes, panting. “Thank you,” she said in a shuddering voice.

“Don’t mention it,” Claude replied flatly.

“Do you think they’ll kill us?” she whispered, jerking her head towards the soldiers in front of them.

“No,” Claude replied, keeping his voice low. “If they haven’t killed us yet, chances are we’ll actually make it home.”

The girl nodded to herself. “I don’t want to die.”

The words struck Claude in the chest as he rode on silently. Edelgard had said she would not wage war with the Alliance if they stayed out of her way, but he doubted it would be that easy. There were many strong followers of the church who sat at the Alliance’s round table, and none of them were likely to listen to a teenager when he asked them to be neutral in the war. . .

Claude snuck a look at the girl. She still looked terrified. Based on the tattered clothing and the callouses on her hands, Claude doubted she was of noble blood. More likely a farmer’s daughter, if he had to guess. He wondered if she was like Leonie, who only got into the Academy by the support of her entire village. It was people like her who would suffer if the Alliance went to war, not the nobles who called the shots while sitting comfortably in their mansions. Claude had to keep that from happening. He did not know how, but he would not have the blood of the Alliance’s people spilled without cause.

They had lost their first battle.

Claude could not afford to lose the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had a few people ask me if I’m going to fill in the blanks on what happened during the five-year gap, so I figured I would answer here. Yes, I am filling in the gap! It would feel weird not to. So far, I have two chapters’ worth of material for the five year gap. It might turn into three if I decide to add more scenes, but I don’t think it will grow to that.
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much for reading! I can’t believe we’ve made it all the way to chapter 20!!!!!!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years 1181 and 1182 pass by swiftly. Claude finds that his life is changing more drastically than he had anticipated, but at least it’s keeping him busy.

1181 - The remainder

Claude begged his grandfather to let him return to Almyra for a few weeks. Given that he wasn’t supposed to graduate for another month anyway, he was still technically within his year of freedom. He wanted to reconcile with his parents. He wanted to visit his sister’s grave. If he did not leave soon, he feared he would never get the opportunity again. But Duke Riegan would have none of it. With a war rising, it was unsafe to travel beyond the Alliance’s borders. Especially to that “damned barbaric nation” that Claude was raised in.

“No,” Duke Riegan asserted, “I need you here to take my place now more than ever. Consider your residence in Derdriu to be permanent.”

Claude could not get the old man to budge.

There was one benefit to the war, though. When Duke Riegan started pressing Claude about marriage—“solidifying his roots in Fódlan,” as he called it—Claude threw the old man’s argument back in his face. After all, if war was an improper time for visiting one’s family, surely it was an improper time to create one, as well. Instead, Claude threw himself into his work. He announced his official inheritance of the title Duke Riegan shortly after his return home, and while his grandfather still attended council meetings when he was well enough to do so, the frequency of his appearance dwindled rapidly.

Claude did little in his free time, if he could say he even had spare time. For the most part, the only moments where Claude had no duties or obligations to fulfill were late in the night, when he would lay awake in bed plagued with the question of how he was going to come out of this war on top. His saving grace was in the diaries he saved. Namely, in Jeralt’s. Claude found it easier to read for more reasons than one. Byleth’s diary mostly just served as a reminder that she was dead, and he had failed her.

Not to say he didn’t try to read it, at first. Claude was nothing if not curious. Besides, there was a level of peace that he felt reading early entries in her diary, the ones that described her life before the monastery and her first impressions of his classmates. Claude just skipped over the entries that has his name as much as he could help it. It was too painful to read his own name, to relive his own memories through her feelings. The closer he got to the Battle of Eagle and Lion, the more Claude struggled. Because the idea of seeing what Byleth thought of him after that big fight, even stumbling on it on accident. . .

For that reason, Claude often found himself up until sunrise, pouring through Jeralt’s writings—his joys, his mysteries, his triumphs, his failures. The puzzling thing was how archaic some of the entries seemed, how yellowed the pages were and how much the ink had faded. It made the diary seem like it was a hundred years old rather than only twenty or thirty. Claude wondered if it was due to the wear and tear of traveling as a mercenary.

That was not what intrigued Claude most, though. He was the most fascinated by the entries where the man described his old friendship with Rhea. The man practically worshipped her before Byleth was born. How blessed was she, the woman who saved his life, who protected the innocent and led him to meet the love of his life! Jeralt spoke of Rhea as if she were Sothis herself.

It reminded Claude how deeply religion was rooted in Fódlan’s people and culture. Sothis was not just an abstract entity, but a living person that played as big a part of people’s lives as a dear friend or a lover would. How ironic, that the only person in Fódlan who had ever actually spoken to the goddess was an outsider.

The only person living, at least. . .

Claude snapped Jeralt’s diary shut. His shoulders were shaking. He gritted his teeth together because _dammit_, he could not do this to himself again! Byleth was _dead_. He had to accept that fact, or risk losing his sanity in the fight against his grief.

But something in his heart would not allow him to let her go.

_By Byleth’s side, you will be Fódlan’s End. . ._

He did not want to believe that Sothis had been wrong.

The elder Duke Riegan did not accompany the younger to the next council meeting. The nobles around the table discussed who they, as a nation, were going to ally themselves with in the war. After all, Lady Rhea had disappeared, and while many of the men and women present claimed to be devout followers of the church, they had doubts over whether faith in the goddess alone would help them win.

Claude took the opportunity to bring up Byleth.

Taking inspiration from the language used in Jeralt’s diary, Claude painted the late mercenary’s daughter as a second coming of the goddess herself, spinning the tale of his time with her to center around her ability to wield the Sword of the Creator, the ancient crest she bore, and the touch the goddess had given her that changed her appearance in her final weeks at the academy. Even the most skeptical of nobles were at the very least curious about this mystery woman, leaning into Claude’s story to hear how it would end. Claude ended the story carefully. He told them of how the goddess-touched Ashen Demon charged ahead into enemy lines, all to save her students and the church that housed them, but he willfully ignored the fact that he watched her fall off the edge of the cliff, choosing instead to say she must be in hiding as Lady Rhea was. A lie, but a necessary one.

There had to be a ray of hope to cling onto.

“The goddess surely favored my old professor,” Claude told them. He thought of Edelgard’s threat to attack the Alliance with everything she had if they retaliated against her, confident that his final words would at least make the others reconsider joining the war for the time being. “And if Sothis chose for Byleth to withdraw from this war, then we must take the same stance for the time being. It is clearly in the goddess’s will for her people to not fight with one another. Let us not have their blood on our hands.”

That was when the dreams started.

Claude was used to having nightmares. Most of his dreams were plagued by his last moments with Petra, or masked assassins chasing him with knives. Sometimes Hadassah would be present, asking Claude if he would braid flowers in her hair, smiling down at him with her neck slit open and blood staining her dress.

The night after that council meeting, however, Claude almost didn’t realize he was dreaming. He sat up suddenly in his bed, reaching for his knife. Someone else was in the room with him.

“Do you really intend to stab me with that thing?” a female voice asked, her tone sounding amused. Claude looked out to his balcony, where the voice had come from. Into his room stepped a young woman with mint green hair and navy blue silks hanging from her long, pale neck. Her chest, wrists and ankles were adorned with gold, and her eyes shone brightly in the dark. “I think it would hurt my feelings if you did.”

“Byleth?” Claude asked, though even as the word left his mouth, he knew it not to be true. This woman had Byleth’s face, and seemed of a similar height and build, but she had no scars on her arms or shoulders. Additionally, her clothes looked more similar to those that Sothis had worn in his vision the day their souls merged. Byleth likely had nothing of the sort in her own wardrobe. Yet neither the way the woman carried herself, nor the playful fondness in her voice seemed to be distinctly that of the mercenary or the goddess.

The green-haired woman pouted slightly, but her eyes still gleamed in a playful fashion. “Byleth?” she asked. “I do not think I know this word. Is it some sort of animal? A bird, maybe?”

“No,” Claude told her, trying not to let his heart sink too deeply. “It’s just the name of an old friend of mine. I mistook you for her.”

The woman tilted her head. “Am I not your friend?” she asked. She looked down, fingertips lightly brushing against her chest. “In my heart, I feel that you are. . . connected to me, somehow. To half of me, at least.” She looked up at Claude again, and there was a fog over her eyes. “And I do not know my own name. Are you sure I am not your. . . ‘Byleth’?”

“You couldn’t be,” Claude said regretfully.

“And why ever not?”

“She’s dead.”

The woman looked offended at his words. The fog in her eyes was no longer there. “Claude von Riegan, that is incredibly rude,” she said. “I am certainly not dead!”

Claude shot out of bed, his chest covered in sweat. One thought repeated itself in his mind.

Did Byleth survive?

Did Byleth survive?

Claude found his grandfather dead in his room three days later. The cause of death was inconclusive, but Claude had the estate’s physician fired just to be safe. He had never trusted the man, anyway. He interviewed all of the cooks in the kitchen, as well, and ended up replacing two of them based on how close they had been to the shifty man. A small part of him regretted not being more grieved by his grandfather’s death, but it was not as if he had ever been particularly fond of him to begin with. Besides, there was too much to be done for such thoughts. The threat of war grew stronger every day.

Duke Riegan’s funeral was a grand one, though. Hilda was in attendance, and Lorenz, Raphael, Ignatz, Marianne, Leonie and Lysithea. House Gautier sent a letter of condolence signed by Sylvain, and no word was heard from Caspar or Linhardt. Claude didn’t blame them. Word hardly travelled to and from the Empire anymore. They likely didn’t know.

When the ceremony ended, each of Claude friends approached him to say a few words. None had changed much since their last battle seven months prior, save for Marianne. Her hair was less disheveled than usual, and her clothing of a finer quality.

“Your adoptive father must be training you up as a lady now,” Claude said to her. He tried to keep his tone light, but it was difficult under the circumstances.

“I have nothing better to do with my time,” Marianne replied. Sadness touched her eyes. “It’s amazing how much you get done when you suddenly find yourself single. I’m sure you know that.”

Claude nodded solemnly. He wanted to hug her, to ask her how she had been holding up since the battle at Garreg Mach. Dimitri had not spoken to her since, and reports of his dwindling mental stability came in frequently. But his grandfather’s funeral, where half the nation was watching Claude with a scrutinizing eye, was neither the time nor place to speak of such things. He did, however, note the chain around her neck and tucked into the collar of her dress. Claude did not doubt a ring was strung to that chain. Marianne bowed gracefully and stepped aside for the next attendee to offer their condolences.

Claude’s afternoon was filled with a sea of faces, most of which he did not know. He kept his back straight, shook many hands and thanked everyone for their support in such a trying time. Like the perfect heir would.

The last three attendees to shake his hand were two men and a woman, each with grieving shawls covering their faces. “You look as if you have traveled a long way,” Claude said to them, shaking the hand of the taller man.

“My wife used to know the duke,” the shorter man explained. “We have come to pay our respects.”

“Please, you must stay at my estate,” Claude said to them. “I have plenty of spare rooms, and you will need to rest before traveling back home.”

The three guests agreed, and once the funeral was over, they rode with Claude in his carriage. None of them said a word to one another. They had to be careful. When they returned to Claude’s home, he led them to his sitting room, where he closed and locked the door. In moments, the woman was at Claude’s side. She had thrown off her grieving shawl and clutched Claude’s face in her hands, kissing him all over.

“Mom,” Claude complained. But he didn’t ask her to stop. His father behaved similarly, removing the black shawl from his head and kissing Claude on either side of his face before embracing him tightly.

“The house has been quiet this last year,” he whispered. “And my horses are getting fat and lazy with no one to drag.”

Claude laughed lightly. His mother tugged at his arm, bright green eyes scrutinizing his face. She started cursing in Almyran when she saw the scar on his jaw. “You should have been more careful, Khalid. When Judith told me that good-for-nothing bastard did this to you—“

“Tiana,” Nader—was it safe to call him that again?—said warningly. He stood a little in the distance, scarred face in a hard scowl and arms crossed over his thick chest. The loyal general keeping watch over his king and his family. “We didn’t come here to argue with the kiddo.”

“It’s true, my love,” Claude’s father whispered. “You promised.”

“I know, I know,” Tiana sobbed. She pulled Claude in for another embrace. “Even if you never spoke to me again, I—I’ve already lost one child. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, too.”

“I know, Mom,” Claude whispered. “But I’m fine.” His father leaned over and murmured something in Tiana’s ear, and she nodded.

“Khalid. . .” he whispered. How strange, that name sounded to Claude now, even hearing it twice in a row. Claude watched his father as he pulled a ring off his pinky finger: a silver circlet inlaid with a single emerald, and pressed it into his son’s hand. “_This belongs to you now_,” he murmured in Almyran.

Claude’s eyes widened. “_No_,” he said. “_This was Hadassah’s. I can’t_—“

“_It’s the symbol of the heir apparent. It is yours now by birthright._”

“But I can’t leave Fódlan. There’s too much going on here and I—“

Tiana put up a hand to stop him. “We are not asking you to come back with us.” Her lip quivered as she smiled. “We are giving you a gift. Hadassah would have wanted you to—“

Claude caught her as she nearly collapsed, hands clutched to mouth to stifle the mournful sound that escaped her lips. The sound, Claude realized, of a mother who had found her daughter murdered in her bed. Of a mother who was blamed for the death by her only remaining child. Of a mother who had to learn second-hand that a scorned ex-lover tried to murder her son. Of a mother who had felt helpless to protect not one, but both of her children, and was doing all she could to mend her broken family. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Claude whispered. “Mom, I’m so sorry.” He looked up at his father, who was trying to stand tall even as tears streamed down his own face. “_Forgive me._”

The older man pulled his wife and son into his arms, kissing each on the forehead as he wept silent tears. “_No, Khalid. Forgive us_.”

Some time later, Tiana pulled away, wiping her face furiously. She took the ring from Claude’s hand and shakily put it on his right pinky. “There,” she whispered. She curled his fingers into a light fist then pat his hand. “A perfect fit.”

Still standing in the same spot, Nader cleared his throat. “We should sit down rather than standing by the door all night.”

“Yes,” Tiana said softly. She clung to her son’s hand, lightly shaking her head. Claude realized then that a streak of gray touched her temple. He did not remember her having gray in her hair before. “And then, my son, you must tell me everything that has happened here.”

Claude squeezed her hand reassuringly, and pat his father on the shoulder. “Where do you want me to begin?”

When his three guests were ready to sleep, Claude called Greta to ready two rooms for them, then retired to his own. He laid awake, staring at the silver ring on his finger and thinking of the events that had taken place that day. The return of his parents, the funeral. . . Though the title had been his for months now, Claude realized that he was fully the Duke of House Riegan now. Ruler of the Strongest House in the Alliance, and Servant to the People. His life was no longer his own, and now belonged to his nation.

Claude chuckled at the thought, thinking of how similar it was to wedding vows in Almyra. _My life is no longer my own. From this day forward, it belongs to you_, he rehearsed mockingly in his head. He idly started playing with the braided portion of his hair. It was still a wonder how Edelgard was able to deduce his identity over something so simple. No one else at the academy ever gave a second look to his braid. They never suspected that it had any meaning. Claude supposed that was for the best, though. After all, it was only ever supposed to mean something to the woman he married—

Claude would never have an Almyran wedding, he realized. As Duke Riegan, he had to be loyal to the Leicester Alliance before anything else. Even if he somehow managed to take his father’s kingdom while remaining in Fódlan, he still would not be eligible for the throne for another decade, so. . . No. Claude could not even think about that now. There was no time to be an Alliance noble _and_ an Almyran king. He could not have split allegiances.

For all intents and purpose, Claude had to consider himself fully a man of Fódlan.

He sat up, pulling himself off the too-large bed and sitting in front of his mirror. He took out the knife that he always had hidden on his person, positioning the blade so it rested against the base of his braid. Sighing to himself, he considered what he was about to do. The emerald on his pinky gleamed in the reflection, taunting him with the reminder that he could still escape, leave the insane continent of Fódlan behind and rule his home country instead. But he wasn’t going to. And he knew he wasn’t going to. Because too many people would die if he did. And what kind of leader would he be if he abandoned his people?

“You have one duty,” Claude muttered to himself. “You cannot let your people die needlessly.” He readjusted the grip of the handle in his hand. “She would have wanted you to protect them.”

He jerked the knife forward, and his braid fell to the ground.

He was Almyran no longer.

1182 -

Claude’s new advisor turned many heads at the first council meeting he attended. For one thing, “Nardel”—as Nader was calling himself—stood easily a head taller than most of the nobles who sat around the table with him. For another, the scars criss-crossing his face gave him a menacing look that in no way matched his actual personality. But only Claude knew that.

“We need supplies!” Count Gloucester shouted, loud enough for the words to echo in the room. Claude resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The economy is tanking because trade is restricted between us and the other two nations. We can’t trade with the Empire without isolating the eastern Kingdom merchants, because they’ve allied with the church. And we can’t trade with the eastern part of the Kingdom without provoking Empire troops. What happens if there’s a drought? Do we all starve?”

“We’ve already started storing grain in reserves and encouraging local farmers and hunters to pickle, smoke, and dry any extra food they have to preserve it. The Alliance will be covered should anything happen,” Claude assured him. That had been Nader’s idea. A similar tactic was used in Almyra during the dry seasons to keep families from starving when harvests were small. And so far, it kept people alive for hundreds of years. “The Alliance must keep a neutral stance.”

“So you say,” Count Gloucester seethed. “Yet still, as the only noble whose land stretches between our two borders, I have the Empire soldiers pounding at my door nearly every month, pressuring me to support them.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you always seem to overlook that.”

“I do not overlook it,” Claude said as calmly as he could muster. “I only choose not to move my own soldiers into your territory because it could be seen as an act of _war_.”

Count Gloucester rose from his chair and slammed his fist on the table, looking as if he was going to chew Claude’s eyes out of their sockets, when Nader stood up. He said nothing, only watched the purple-haired man silently until he sat back down. Claude resisted the urge to smirk. Nader was not only a wealth of knowledge on the subject of war. He made for a decent body guard, as well. It was a relief having him around, especially since Judith had recently stepped down as one of the five leading houses of the Alliance and been replaced by Margrave Edmund. The man did not share his adoptive daughter’s temperament.

“Now, if nobody else is going to ask me to breach the act of neutrality today,” Claude sighed, “let’s move onto the next subject. . .”

Claude could sense that the apparition had returned before his eyes opened. Soft green hair fell across her face and round eyes stared up at him in the darkness. The Byleth-Sothis apparition laid across from him, her hand delicately resting on his pillow. Claude narrowed his eyes and rolled over. “You’re not real,” he growled. She reappeared in front of him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what? Existing?” The apparition asked. She giggled, which sent shivers all up and down Claude’s spine.

It had been a pleasant surprise—a beam of hope, really—the first time he saw her in his room. But after a year of her appearing before him in this form every few months, with no knowledge of where she was or how he could find her, the more her presence felt like a mockery. She touched his jaw, or rather, tried to. Claude could never feel her touch. “You should shave.”

“I’m trying to grow a beard.”

The apparition scrunched up her face. “Why?”

“To hide my scar,” Claude told her. “I feel like everyone stares at it otherwise.” He never lied to the apparition. There was no point. She wasn’t real.

“I like your scar,” the apparition purred. “It’s sexy.”

Claude pushed away from her.

“Why do you do that?” she pouted. “I don’t remember you ever being so flippantly cruel.”

“You don’t remember anything!” Claude shouted. “How can you remember anything? You’re. Not. Real!” He shifted to the edge of the bed then stood up. “Anything you recall is just a memory I have of you—of _her_—that you are pulling from my head! But you are not her. . . You are not Byleth.”

The apparition frowned at him, her lower lip quivering. For as stoic as Byleth was, the apparition always seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. It was the only thing that kept Claude grounded in reality on the nights that she found her way into his room. _She is not Byleth!_ “I am Byleth,” she asserted to him. “At least, half of me is. . .”

“You’ve said that before,” Claude growled. “And yet you never seem to produce any evidence of that.”

The apparition curled up on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees as Claude paced back and forth across the stone floor. “All I have are memories of pain,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Claude grunted. “Life has been nothing but pain this last year. It’s not surprising that you would reflect that.”

For once, the apparition glared up at him. “I am feeling my pain, you brute,” she huffed. “_My_ pain. Pain that I know for a fact is my own and not yours.”

“Oh, do you?” Claude asked sardonically. “Then, please, by all means, share your pain with me. Prove to me that your pain differs from my own.” The apparition lowered her head, burying the lower half of her face against her knees. Claude scoffed, hoping to hide the fact that he was disappointed. He wanted to be proven wrong. . . “I should have known.”

“It was a dark autumn night, just before the Battle of Eagle and Lion,” the apparition started. Claude stopped pacing. Never before had she spoken of a memory like this. “You came into my room to discuss the strategy for winning, but we talked about. . . something else instead. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” Claude told her, yet doing so exhausted him. She was still only telling him what he already knew. What he experienced. But, he didn’t remember the conversation between he and Byleth happening at night. Hadn’t it been in the afternoon?

“I told you to—I encouraged—” The apparition clenched her head, cutting herself off.

“What’s wrong?” Claude asked. He thought of when Byleth used to collapse in pain when she tried to talk about Sothis. It was the most like Byleth he had ever seen the apparition look, and that pained him to admit.

“I just see pieces of memories, nothing more,” she groaned. “The details escape me. . . All I know is that I told you to do something I did not want you to do. Then. . . That night. . .” Her eyes welled up with tears. “I saw you go into someone else’s room.”

Claude felt his ears grow warm at the thought of being spotted sneaking into Petra’s room. “You’re still telling me what I know,” Claude said carefully, though he was beginning to doubt himself. “I went into Petra’s room, I’m aware that happened. As well as what happened after.”

The apparition didn’t look up at him, she only nodded her head numbly. “Did you know I cried that night?”

Claude laughed humorlessly. “Why would you cry? What reason could you possibly have?”

“Because I was jealous,” the apparition whispered. Claude stepped closer.

“Jealous?” he repeated. The apparition nodded again.

“So much pain,” she muttered. Claude took another step closer. She was growing harder to hear. “So many flashing images. . .”

“Images of what?”

The apparition was gone, then reappeared right in front of him in an instant. Their faces were mere inches away from each other. “Images of _you_,” the apparition said through gritted teeth. “Of so many moments where I longed to touch you, where I had to watch you love another and pretend that I was unbothered. Where I hated myself for having those feelings, not only because you were younger than me, but because I was your teacher, your superior.” Her speech slowed as her eyes dropped from Claude’s eyes to his lips. His breathing shallowed. “But there was also fear,” she said. “And not just the fear of taking advantage of you. Half of me wanted to bare my soul to you. The other feared you were too dangerous, too unpredictable to trust.” She leaned closer. “I still think you are dangerous,” she said. “All of me does. But I must be a fool, because I still wonder what it would be like just to kiss you. . .”

Just before her lips touched his, Claude woke up from his dream.

“Dammit,” he growled.

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing the tears of frustration to not fall down his face.

_It’s not real_, he thought repeatedly. _None of it is real._

Yet he found himself standing, marching towards Byleth’s diary. “She’s not real,” he muttered, lighting a candle to better see the pages. “You’re just going insane. You’re losing your mind, you fool.” Claude’s finger flipped until he found entries dated in the wyvern moon of 1180, then slowed his pace. His heart beat violently in his chest. “None of what she said is real.” The entries leading up to the day he was looking for were filled with his name, Byleth’s excitement with the upcoming competition glaringly apparent in comparison to the almost report-like entries from earlier in the year. Claude’s free hand was balled into such a tight fist that it shook.

_Claude is supposed to stop by to—_

_—Then Claude has this brilliant idea that—_

_If it wasn’t for Claude, I don’t think that I would—_

Claude’s finger froze over the shortest entry in her diary. He took in a shallow, shaking breath, as he read the two sentences that made his heart beat even faster.

_I let Claude borrow my book. He quickly put it to use._

He sat back, staring at the wall in front of him as his head began to spin. Byleth did give him a book that day, didn’t she?

_“There’s a chapter in there on contraceptives. I imagine at least somewhere in the greenhouse, you will find the herbs listed for you that will prevent pregnancy. If you are going to sleep with her. . .”_

Claude clutched his head with his hands, forcing himself to take deep, steadying breaths. There was no way the apparition could have pulled that from his memories.

And the fact that Byleth wrote that entry in her journal. . .

Perhaps the apparition was real, after all.

“How did you even get a selection this big?” Lysithea wondered. “My parents are avid book collectors and our shelves are only half this full!” They were standing in Claude’s private library. He had promised Lysithea a tour months ago, but the plans had been postponed due to a series of meetings Claude had to attend to settle a land dispute. Now that she was finally at his estate, Claude was grinning ear to ear at the look of joy on her face. When her fingertips only brushed the book she was trying to grab from a higher shelf, Claude reached over her head to get it for her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Claude said with a wink. Lysithea rolled her eyes. “As for the books, a few came here with me from home, but most of them have been in the family for generations. I don’t know how far back, but I at least know they’re from before my grandfather’s time.”

“Hmm,” Lysithea replied. She already had the book opened, skimming through a few pages before snapping the cover shut. “Do you have any magic tomes? I always like to see the variances in spells that different mages use.”

“Yes, I would check around the back corner,” Claude said, pointing to one of the shelves to the left. He lifted his own book in the air. “I’m gonna sit down. Take your time browsing, I took the whole day off for you. We can read the afternoon away if you like.”

“Offering me exactly what I want? What a gentleman,” Lysithea said with a laugh. She practically skipped further into the library.

Claude chuckled to himself. He settled down on the long sofa by the marbled fireplace, opening the book on battle strategies he had picked up the last time he managed to slip into town on market day. It was not the most exciting read, but it was teaching Claude quite a bit, almost as much as he was learning during his first days at the academy. Back when he would always pester Byleth about her time as a—

Claude frowned. He read and re-read the same line over again, his mind clouding up. Thinking of Byleth often had the affect on him.

A faint _thud_ in the direction Lysithea had disappeared in pulled his attention. Claude set down his book and followed it. “Sithee?” he called with a laugh. “I swear to gods if you ruined one of my books—“

Claude froze.

Lysithea was on her knees, one hand clutched to her mouth with a light trickle of blood between her fingers as she coughed up more. “Oh my gods, what happened? Let me send for the physician. She—“

Lysithea held up a hand to stop him. When her coughing subsided, Lysithea calmly pulled out a red stained handkerchief from one of her pockets and wiped at her hand and the corners of her mouth. “You weren’t supposed to see that. . .” she murmured.

Claude’s mind worked to put the pieces together. “This isn’t the first time this has happened?”

With grief in her eyes, Lysithea shook her head.

“Are you. . . Are you sick?”

Another shake of the head. “Not sick. . . Just dying.”

“Is it an injury, then? Have you considered looking at foreign medicines? I have a book around here somewhere on Almy—“

“There is no cure!” Lysithea snapped. The sorrow in her eyes intensified. “I’ve studied, I’ve looked, I’ve _tried_. Why do you think I went to the academy? It was the last place in Fódlan I could go that might possibly help me.” She drew in a sharp breath. “And we all know how that turned out. . .”

Claude dropped to his knees, placing his hands on Lysithea’s shoulders. “Do you at least know what it is that’s killing you?”

“I know, but I won’t tell you,” Lysithea said. “If I did. . .” She looked down at her hands. “You wouldn’t see me the same. You would pity me. And I couldn’t stand it if you looked down on me.”

“Can you at least tell me part of it?”

“If I tell you part, I tell you all. And I’m sorry, but. . . This is my burden to bear. Not yours.”

Claude nodded slowly. “How long do you have? Can I at least know that?”

Lysithea shrugged. “I could drop dead tomorrow. Or in a few years? There’s no definitive timeline. I doubt I’ll live to see twenty-five.” Her voice was calculating, as if she were trying to guess the next day’s weather rather than how many years she had left to live.

Claude’s grip on her tightened. “Then there’s still time.”

“You can’t fix everything,” Lysithea whispered. “Sometimes, there’s no trick. No scheme. No clever answer.” Claude let his hands drop to his sides. “All that’s left is to decide what to do with the time you have left.”

She was usually not one for physical affection, but when Claude pulled her closer to wrap his arms around her, she let him. “What will you do with yours, then?”

“I want to make a difference,” Lysithea whispered. “Whatever that means, if I can do one thing to make this world a better place before I go. . . Then I’ll know my time here wasn’t wasted.”She squeezed Claude tightly, then let him go. “But for today? I just want to see my friend. Read a good book, and have a relaxing time. Okay?”

Claude tried to protest.

“I’ve accepted my fate,” she assured him, for once looking and sounding as mature as she always wanted to be. “Please do not make me waste my time lamenting what cannot be changed.”

Though he wanted to fight her, Claude found it hard to deny her wish. “Okay, then,” he said simply. He could give her one worry-free day. There would be time for research later. He stood up, then offered a hand to his friend so she could do the same. Before walking back to the fireplace, he hesitated. “Or, instead of reading, we could try raiding the kitchen for an early dessert?”

“. . . Yeah, that sounds like such a better option.”

“Master Claude!” Greta called. She ran up to him, panting. Claude calmly set down his cup of coffee.

“What is it, Greta?” he asked. The older woman could get flustered easily, so he doubted there was actual cause for alarm.

“There’s some hussy in the stables!” Greta huffed. “She seems to think she can just ride in here and get an audience with you without permission.” Claude snickered, despite himself.

“You really shouldn’t call Hilda that,” he said with a slight chuckle. It had been months since he had seen her—well, seen any of his friends, if he was being honest. The last person he had seen was Lysithea, and that was in the beginning of springtime. It was starting to turn to summer now. But Hilda usually wrote ahead of time if she was traveling out to see him. He wondered if she wanted her visit to be a surprise.

“It’s not Lady Goneril,” Greta said, her cheeks flushing. Claude’s smile faltered. He stood up and ran towards the stables. The shouting could be heard from halfway across the estate.

“You cannot just show up unsolicited—who do you even think you—if you think showing up unannounced will endear you to—“

“Stop!” Claude commanded. The three young servant girls pulled away from the intruder, looking a tad embarrassed. Claude looked past them to the cowering figure they had backed into a corner. “Mari?” Claude said. Marianne peered up at him from underneath her hands. Claude glared down at the three servants. He considered himself a fair employer, but in that moment, he was ready to fire all three of them on the spot. “Don’t you all have work to do?” he asked. The three girls curtsied and fled.

Marianne flung her arms around Claude’s neck, and he could feel her shaking. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she sobbed. “I hope I didn’t cause you trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Claude said. He patted her hair. “You’re never any trouble.” She was still shaking despite his words. Claude kissed her cheek. “Let’s get some tea, and then we’ll talk.”

He led her to his courtyard, where his coffee was just starting to cool. Marianne said nothing, but Claude’s mind was already racing, wondering what could have brought her to his door. When they were in school, and that Blue Lions student accused her of being involved with the demonic beasts, Claude had briefly resumed his research on crests. There was no proof, but Claude suspected he knew what crest Marianne bore, and why she hid it from the world. If anyone else discovered it, they may call for her head. And Claude would not allow that to happen. There would be no cursed ancestor bullshit while he was still breathing. He poured hot water into a cup and offered his assortment of teas to his blue-haired friend, already plotting ways to quell rumors that would threaten her.

“The tea set. . .” Marianne whispered. “Is this the same one that—?”

“No,” Claude answered quickly, guessing her next words. “It’s not Teach’s set. Just an identical one. I happened upon it when Ignatz’s family was last in the area, so I bought it.”

“Do you see Ignatz often?” Marianne asked. Claude shrugged.

“As often as anyone else I guess.” He tried to smile. “You know, I got so used to seeing our friends every day at the academy. They practically became family. . . It’s weird to have my friends visit so rarely now.” He took a sip of his coffee and frowned. “And I’m practically a prisoner to this place. I don’t think I’ve left Derdriu in over a year now.”

“So I heard,” Marianne sighed. When Claude raised his eyebrow, she said, “Hilda writes often.”

“Hmm,” Claude said, setting down his cup. Marianne looked at its contents.

“Since when do you drink coffee?”

Claude shrugged.

“I only remember one other person drinking it regularly. . .”

Claude frowned. His hands had a slight tremor. “Why did you come all this way, Mari?”

Marianne clasped her hand over her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears. The other hand clung at the ring she kept hidden around her neck. Claude was immediately by her side, his arm around her. _You fool_, he cursed himself, _why would you deflect your own pain by inflicting it on your friend?_

“It’s Dimitri,” Marianne cried. Claude’s heart clenched. Of course, it would be about him. How could he forget about the prince? “He’s been—I heard word that—The Kingdom has betrayed him! He was overturned, and Cornelia—the woman Edelgard appointed as the new ruler—she’s out for his head. There was an attack. No one has seen him since. . . I’m afraid that—that he’s—“ Marianne sobbed against Claude’s shoulder. He let her cry until her tears were dry. All the while, his hands shook with rage and anguish. He would have to say a prayer for Dimitri when he went to bed that night.

“It’ll be okay,” Claude whispered. “It’ll all be okay in time.”

Claude insisted that Marianne stay with him for a couple of days, both to offer her support, and because. . . well. . . He missed his friend. They finished their tea and coffee, then Claude decided to cheer her up by bringing her back to the stables to see Dorte. After which, of course, Marianne insisted they go riding. And it had been _ages_ since Claude had been on a horse. Still, the aching in his body was worth it to see her smiling again by the end of the day. Claude decided that he would surprise her before she returned home by gifting Dorte to her. The horse would get more use and care with her, anyway.

With all their riding done, Claude was exhausted by the time he went to bed. He threw his shirt on the ground and kicked off his boots, then plopped belly first onto the large, soft mattress.

“Claude?” a soft voice whispered.

“What is it, Mari?” he muttered from his pillow.

“Who’s Mari?”

Claude knew that voice.

He opened his eyes, and saw the apparition standing in the middle of his room, arms folded across her chest. “I don’t even know why I returned here,” she scoffed. “You are only going to yell at me again.”

“No no no!” Claude pleaded, reaching out a hand to her. The apparition raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry.”

A smile crept on the apparition’s lips. Gods, why could she not have looked more like Sothis? The curl of her lips was too cruel when they looked like Byleth’s. “For?” she prodded.

“For the way I treated you before,” Claude finished. Why was he finding it so hard to breathe? “I miss Byleth. I was afraid that I—gods, I’m still afraid that I’m going mad. But please. If there is any chance that you really are—“ his throat started to close on him. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.

The apparition tilted her head, tapping a finger to her chin as if she was thinking. “Okay,” she agreed nonchalantly. Claude relaxed. “It’s not like I have anything better to do. If I’m not here, then I am asleep. And I get horribly bored of sleeping.”

“It’s been months since you were last here. You can’t possibly tell me you sleep that much.”

The apparition looked strained. She sat on the bed beside him. “I am often tired,” she murmured.

“Why?”

She clutched her hands to her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know!” she hissed. “There was falling, and darkness, then. . . Pain. . . There’s always the pain—“

“Hey, hey,” Claude whispered. He reached for her shoulder but only met air. Of course. “Does it help if we talk of other things?”

The apparition slowly lowered her hands. “I think so. . .” she whispered. She looked up at him. “What do we talk about?”

Claude hummed thoughtfully in response. He dropped back onto his mattress, spreading his arms to either side of him. “I don’t have a name for you,” he finally said. Movement out of the corner of his eye told him the apparition was now laying next to him.

“I know you will not call me Byleth. . .” she sighed. “What about ‘Teach’? I seem to remember being called that once. Is that also off limits?”

“I am certainly not calling you Teach,” Claude confirmed. That almost seemed worse than calling her Byleth. He glanced over at the frowning apparition.

“Why do you not want to call me something familiar?”

“Because I—you—“ Claude groaned. He shifted so he could look the apparition in the eye. “Assuming I’m not completely insane and conjuring you out of my head to compensate for the dread of impending doom from a war that I’m trying to stave off—“ the apparition hardly seemed to understand him— “you are two women, two people, two souls merged into one, yes? Isn’t that why you sometimes say ‘half of me’?” The apparition seemed to think about that for a moment before she nodded. “Half of you _is_ Byleth. But the other half. . .” Claude sighed. “The other half is a goddess who gave me a false prediction of my future.”

The apparition’s frown deepened. “That hardly sounds like me.”

“Well, I saw Byleth fall off a cliff,” Claude told her. “So unless you tell me she survived—“

“I am _not_ dead!”

“Then I’ll be happy to be wrong. The day you appear in a physical, tangible form, I will call you Byleth.”

Now it was the apparition’s turn to sigh. “What was the goddess’s name again? Neither half of me recalls.

Claude chuckled. “Sothis,” he said.

“A strange name.”

“Byleth is hardly common, either.”

“I suppose. . .”

A beat of silence passed.

“What if I called you Soleth?”

The apparition raised an eyebrow.

“You know. Half Sothis, half Byleth? I think it works. If anything, it’s a quick fix.”

The apparition scrunched up her face. “Half of me doesn’t mind it, but the other half. . .”

“Hey, it’s either that or I pick something super bland like ‘Jill’.”

“Neither half of me likes Jill.”

“Then we agree on Soleth?”

The apparition chuckled and shook her head. “Fine. If those are the only two options I get, we can agree on Soleth.”

“Good.”

The apparition—Soleth—stretched her arms up over her head. “Well, that took less than five minutes,” she muttered. She looked around the room. “And I don’t think I’m leaving any time soon.” Her voice was teasing. “What can you do to entertain me?”

Claude chuckled. “I don’t know, want to learn a second language?” he asked sarcastically.

Soleth was immediately in his face. “You can do that?” she asked eagerly. “What languages do you know?”

Claude leaned back, his brow furrowed. “Just the Fódlan common language and the First Language.”

Soleth blinked. “The what?”

“Almyran. We call it the First Language. Or. . .” He smiled at her, then repeated the simple phrase in his native tongue.

“Is that what that means?” Soleth’s face lit up. She tried to repeat it, but ended up fumbling. With a laugh, she asked, “How do you say that again?”

Claude smiled at Soleth, propping himself up on his elbow. He was careful to enunciate each syllable for her until she could repeat it. “There, you got it.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“Great!” Soleth’s expression looked determined. “Teach me more.”

“Can you lift your hand just a little higher?”

“How long is this going to take? My arm is starting to get numb from the—Claude!”

“Hey, Maya,” Claude called, giving his usual smile to her. Ignatz, who was sitting with a sketch pad on the other side of the tall blonde, leaned over to give a wave. “Hi, Ignatz.”

Maya dropped her pose, running over to greet the young duke with a hug. Ignatz huffed in annoyance, but said nothing. “It’s been a while since you’ve come to the market! Raph and I were afraid that you were tired of us!”

“Never,” Claude said with a laugh. Maya had grown since the last time Claude saw her. He hated to admit it, but he thought she might be taller than him now. “I’ve just been busy.”

Maya jumped suddenly. “I should tell him you’re here! He’ll be thrilled!” She sped off running in the opposite direction, leaving Ignatz and Claude in her dust.

“She looks less like a kid every time I see her,” Claude said absently. “She’s Lysithea’s age, right?”

“Just about, yeah. Maybe a year younger,” Ignatz replied. There was a slight flush on his face as he quickly closed the sketch book. Claude had lost his viewing privileges years ago after too many teasings, so he was hardly offended. Ignatz looked up at Claude with an inquisitive look. “Have you really been too busy to visit? You used to be at the market every month, and I don’t think I’ve seen you in three or four months now.”

“The war just keeps getting shittier,” Claude admitted. He leaned against the wall beside his friend. “And the worse it gets, the busier I become. Just trying to keep the other nobles out of the fighting is a struggle.” He shrugged. “I may not see you again for a while after this.”

“That’s a shame,” Ignatz muttered. He fidgeted with the piece of charcoal in his hands. “Seeing you is nice. It makes the war feel less real.”

“Do you never see anyone else?”

Ignatz shook his head. “Raphael, obviously. And Leonie. . . Sometimes. I write back and forth with the others. Lysithea stopped writing about a month ago, said she hasn’t been feeling well lately.” Claude held his tongue. “And Hilda keeps inviting me to visit, but. . .” He sighed, frustration clear on his face. “My father won’t let me take the trip.”

“Is it financial issues? I wouldn’t mind paying your way if—“

Ignatz waved his hand. “No, it’s not money.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t let you do that anyway, its too generous.”

“It’s what friends are for.”

Ignatz shrugged. “Regardless, it’s the attacks he’s worried about.”

Claude stiffened. “Attacks?” he demanded. “What attacks?”

Ignatz went pale. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

“Knew about what?”

Ignatz flinched. It was then that Claude realized he was leering over him anxiously. He pulled back. “Crime has become more rampant,” Ignatz explained. He took off his glasses and wiped them off with his shirt. Claude was certain he was doing it just to buy time. “Many of the lords have stopped assigning patrols around the nearby roads and villages because they’d rather protect their own homes. It’s hard to travel without the risk of being robbed these days. I don’t leave because my brother doesn’t have any combat training, and I do. Why hire a guard when you can have one for free?” There was a bite to his last sentence.

Claude ran a hand through his hair. “Why did nobody tell me about this?”

“I assumed you knew,” Ignatz said again. Claude said nothing. “It’s really not that big of a deal. I shouldn’t have said anything. We haven’t even had any confrontations since—“

Claude pushed off the wall. “Give Raphael and Maya my apologies,” he said. “I have business to attend to.”

“You don’t have to leave now,” Ignatz pleaded. “Especially if it’s about what I said. Please, Claude.”

Claude hesitated. “Are people dying over these attacks?”

No response.

“I’ll try to come by again next month.”

Claude walked away before Ignatz could argue, even though it pained him to do so.

_The needs of your people come first. . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This writer would like to make it known that she bears no ill will towards the name “Jill,” or anyone who has that name (in or out of the Fire Emblem universe).
> 
> Happy Groundhog Day!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years 1183 - 1185  
Claude grows increasingly busy and weary.

1183 -

Claude started to get suspicious the morning he walked into a council meeting and found that many of the nobles had brought their children with them. Namely, their unmarried daughters. He ignored them as much as he could. When they were introduced to him, he smiled and nodded, would give a small joke accompanied by a wink (because he had a reputation to uphold), then quickly found an excuse to leave. After all, there was _so much_ work to be done. There was always work to be done.

Only, the young women kept returning. And when he stopped showing interest in them at the meetings, they started showing up at his _house_. Even if their behavior did not infuriate Claude to no end, he doubted that he could see himself giving any of the women what they wanted.

After all, Claude was married to his work.

“It might not be a bad idea to find yourself a wife,” Nader said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Claude laughed, shaking his head. “You are the last person who should be telling me to get married.”

Nader shifted the training axe in his hands, testing the weight. “That’s different,” he said. “I’m not a fancy-pants noble like you. Besides, it’s not my idea. It’s that damned staff of yours that keeps gossiping about it. I just told them I’d bring it up to you to get them to shut up. . .”

Claude groaned, rolling his eyes.

“It might not be that bad!”

Claude swung his axe at Nader, hoping to catch him off guard. It was a feeble hope. After all, Nader had been the one to teach Claude most of his tricks. Nader dodged the blade and swung low for Claude’s side. Claude barely lifted his axe in time to block it.

“At the very least,” Nader grunted. “It’ll give you something to do outside of training and those boring-ass meetings of yours.”

“Give me something to do?” Claude repeated incredulously. He doubted the choice of words was an accident. Nader swung at him again. With a grunt, Claude countered, swinging his axe again and again until he managed to knick Nardel’s arm. “Look, if you got something to say to me, just go ahead and say it.”

Nader smirked. When Claude moved to hit him again, Nader dropped his axe and punched him in the stomach. Claude staggered backwards with a cough.

“That was uncalled for!” Claude shouted. He readjusted his axe. Nader only laughed.

“You used to laugh when I would pull shit like that,” he chortled. Lazily, the older man sauntered over to pick up his axe. “But that proves a nice point: you’ve gotten way too uptight, kiddo.” Claude saw his next words coming before he opened his mouth, and was already rolling his eyes when Nader said, “It wouldn’t kill you to get laid.”

A small part of Claude agreed with the sentiment, but that was hardly the point at the moment. “You know,” he sighed. “Something tells me the the nobles of the Alliance aren’t pushing their daughters towards me just to pimp them out.”

Nader readied his axe again. “You won’t know until you try.”

Claude’s frown deepened. He was genuinely against the idea of getting to know any of the noble’s daughters better. There was a nation to run, and barely enough time for himself as it was. Throwing a (second) woman into the mix would only spell out trouble.

Claude swung his axe again.

In the high summer time, Claude sat at the round table that had become his second home, and looked up to find that one of the younger nobles had brought his sister to the meeting. Her presence in the room made focusing on the events at hand difficult. Every few minutes, Claude found himself meeting eyes with the beautiful young woman, before she would smile and quickly look away. Claude smiled to himself. He determined that he would not let her leave until he had spoken with her. Not that he thought that would be a problem to accomplish.

If only the damned meeting would end sooner.

“My Lord Goneril,” Claude called as the other nobles lazily left the room. He put on his most charming smile. “I was wondering if you and your delightful sister would like to stay in my home for the remainder of your time in Derdriu.” He looked down at the pink-haired young woman and winked. “After all, it’s the least I could do after you’ve traveled such a long way. And I would love a chance to get to know this beauty better.”

Hilda practically flung herself onto Claude as she hugged him. “Really, has time and a title done _nothing_ to fix your sense of humor, Mister Leader Man?” she laughed. Her brother Holst cleared his throat, looking rather annoyed at Hilda’s lack of conduct. “Oh, stop,” Hilda complained. “This is my best friend, and you don’t let me travel anymore! It’s been a year! Let me be happy to see him.”

“Perhaps you can be happy to see him in a more _respectable_ manner,” Holst suggested. Hilda stuck her tongue out at him.

“C’mon, Hils.” Claude said with a laugh. “Let’s play nice.” He bowed respectfully to Holst. “I am being serious about the two of you staying with me for a couple days. If that is not possible, at the very least I hope you two can meet me for tea tomorrow?”

“You invitation is generous,” Holst said. “But I am not one for frivolities, as my sister can tell you. . . I would, however, be very much interested in training with you.” Holst’s eyes glinted. “Hilda tells me you were just getting used to wielding an axe at the end of your time at Garreg Mach. How do you fare now?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Claude said with a confident smirk. “I practice every day.”

“You could have joined us, Hils,” Claude said. His chest was gleaming with sweat as he put his training axe away. Holst had already left to go clean up after the hour-long sparring session. “Your brother kicked my ass, but I don’t think he was much better than you. It would have been more of a fair fight for him.”

“Against me?” Hilda asked. “Oh, no. I’m far too weak and shrimpy and—“

“Hilda,” Claude said, making every effort to sound as chastising as possible. “You know that doesn’t work on me.”

Hilda sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Holst doesn’t know, does he?”

“Doesn’t know what?” Hilda asked.

“Gee, I don’t know. That I’ve seen you take down a demonic beast single-handedly? That you’re one of the most powerful warriors that I’ve ever met?” Claude said.

Hilda chuckled. “Really, Claude, you shouldn’t tease a girl like that.” She bent down and picked up his shirt to walk it to him. Claude frowned down at the fabric. It was made of a thin material, but the morning was already so hot that he hated the idea of wearing it. Still, he could hardly walk around with his shirt off, especially with the increasing number of noble women who had been “just passing by” as of late. He took the shirt from Hilda, and that was when he noticed. . .

“Why are you wearing long sleeves?” he asked.

Hilda blinked up at him innocently. “That’s a funny question to ask a girl,” she said. “Now come on, you promised me tea time. Marianne says you have quite a rare assortment.” She left the training grounds with Claude right on her heels.

“You’ve been keeping up your training,” Claude accused. He poked her arm, and sure enough, touched hard muscle under the fabric. “Admit it.”

“So what if I am?” Hilda hissed. She started walking faster. “It’s boring up by the border. My parents never have time to entertain and throw parties like they used to, and Holst has guards follow me everywhere I go. I’m practically a prisoner in my own home and I have nothing to do. So, I swing an axe at a dummy every once in a while to let off some steam. Who cares? It doesn’t mean I’m any good at it.”

“Why are you so afraid of being good at something?” Claude asked her.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t get it, Claude,” she whispered. “You don’t have any older siblings to disappoint.”

Claude swallowed his next words. They continued silently together until they reached Claude’s courtyard, where Greta had already set out his tea set in the shade. “I just think it’s strange,” Claude muttered, pouring hot water for his friend. “You were excelling at the academy. Even Teach was impressed with how much you had improved in the last few months, but she could never pinpoint the change, either.” He looked pointedly at Hilda, who pretended to be too interested in the selection of teas to notice. Claude already knew the answer to his next question, but he wanted to give her the opportunity to answer. “Was it because of Lorenz?”

Hilda shrugged too casually for Claude to be wrong.

“I never actually asked you about your relationship with him, now did I?”

“What is there to talk about?” Hilda asked, placing a mesh bag of dried leaves into her cup. She dabbed it with her pinky finger until it was fully immersed in the water.

“I know he was the secret boyfriend,” Claude said flatly. “And I guess I even understand why you wouldn’t want to tell me that. I was quick to tease in those days—“

“You’re _still_ quick to tease,” Hilda corrected with a glare.

“I don’t get why you broke it off with him, though,” Claude sighed, picking out his own blend of herbs. “Clearly he was doing some good for you.”

“I didn’t break it off with him,” Hilda said, keeping her eyes downcast.

Claude shot her a look. “You mean you’ve secretly been with him this entire time? And you didn’t tell me?”

“No,” Hilda said calmly. She set down her cup and finally looked up at her old friend. “I mean that he broke up with me.” Claude’s jaw went slack, which brought a slight, sad smile to Hilda’s lips. “Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?”

“Why?” Claude asked. “I don’t mean to be blunt or anything, but you’re way out of the guy’s league.”

“Do you really want to know this?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

Hilda exhaled out of the side of her mouth, then took a long sip of her tea. “The day you saw us in my room, crying and holding hands?” she began. “I asked him to run away with me before the Imperial army arrived. . . I’m ashamed of it now, of course. But until I saw Edelgard behind the Flame Emperor’s mask, I—I guess I never feared death before. Not really, at least. Dying just never seemed like an option with the professor around, you know?” She cleared her throat. “But something was different after that day. I can’t explain it, but. . . When Edelgard declared war on the church, I was watching Professor Byleth run herself ragged trying to help everyone prepare for the battle and I realized, she would probably kill herself trying to save everyone before she—” Hilda’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry, I was speaking metaphorically.”

“It’s okay,” Claude assured her. He blinked back the stinging in his eyes. “I knew what you meant. Please, continue.” He tried to smile. “I won’t let you wriggle out of an explanation that easily.”

Hilda quietly muttered to herself. “I just wanted us to be _safe_. So I asked him to leave, to elope with me, leave Fódlan for good. . .” She paused to laugh, short and breathily. “I don’t even know where we would have gone. Dagda, Almyra? It didn’t matter. . . What did matter was that he told me ‘no’. He told me that I shouldn’t be so willing to abandon my friends in their time of need, and that if I truly believed I was in the right to behave so selfishly, that he had no foreseeable future with me.”

“That’s bullshit!” Claude exclaimed. “I don’t even know why you were with him to begin with if he—“

“Because I liked that he pushed me to be better!” Hilda snapped. She huffed angrily, then picked up her cup again and sipped the tea silently. Claude watched her, his ego bruised for being snapped at, but not foolish enough to fight her when she was angry. “Have you ever asked yourself why you and I never dated?”

Claude snickered. “You mean besides the fact that you’re a total pest?”

Hilda shot him a look. “I’m being serious. Think about it. We get along, we’re both good looking. Why did we never date?”

Claude frowned slightly, then ran a hand through his hair as he pondered the answer. “We’re too similar,” he decided. “We would spend the rest of our lives goofing off and pulling pranks on one another, but we would never actually get anything done.”

Hilda nodded. “Nobody has ever expected anything of me, Claude,” she breathed. “I grew up being patted on the head and told what a pretty girl I was. Never a smart girl, or a strong girl, or even a _kind_ girl. Just a pretty one. . . Do you know what the first compliment Lorenz ever gave me was?” Claude shook his head. “He told me I was resourceful,” she whispered. The corner of her lip twitched upward. “One of the girls from another Golden Deer class ripped her dress and I ran into her as she was about to throw it away. It would have been a waste of such good fabric. So I sat down with her and taught her how to sew, and together we turned the undamaged part of the dress into a skirt, then donated the scraps. I guess Lorenz saw me, or heard about it, somehow, because he approached me later and told me that he was impressed with how creative I was, to turn the article of clothing into something new, rather than throw it away just because it was more convenient. I told him I would never waste money like that, and he seemed. . . shocked. But pleasantly so.”

Claude knitted his eyebrows together. “I never even knew,” he said.

Hilda shook her head. “I almost told you so we could make fun of him together. But then, I realized that I actually liked what he said to me. . . And I started doing more little things to get him to compliment me again. And again. And again. Until. . .” She stopped to laugh. “You know, he never even slept with me? Isn’t that funny? He said it wasn’t proper to expect anything more than a touch of my hand, or a kiss of my cheek. And he was very firm to keep that boundary.”

“You think he didn’t want to?”

“I think he knew that was what I expected him to be after. He wouldn’t have been the first guy, sure as hell wasn’t the last.” She laughed darkly. “I think we actually fought more than we were ever affectionate with each other.”

“Why be with him, then?”

“It’s like I said. Something about him just always made me want to be better than the lazy girl who flirted her way out of every little responsibility.” Hilda looked down at her tea cup. “He was the only one who believed I could be better than that girl. . .” She blinked and shook hr head, as if coming out fo a trance, then suddenly looked up at Claude with a smile. “I don’t know, this was what, two years ago now? Maybe three? Talking about it is boring me to tears.” Her tone was more light-hearted, but Claude could still see the sadness lingering in her eyes. “Let’s talk about something more fun, like how my brother is hoping a romance will kindle between the two of us during my visit?”

Claude snorted. “Is that why you’re here?!”

“Uh-huh,” Hilda said, tongue in cheek. Her sadness was replacing itself with amusement. “He gave me some bullshit speech about how best friends make the best lovers, and how I needed to start considering how to secure the future of our family’s crest.” Claude snorted. “I told him to take his own advice.”

“Then why did you agree to come?” Claude asked between laughs. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, spreading his legs apart. “You want to seduce me?”

Hilda pushed Claude away from her, laughing and shaking her head. “Please, you wish!” she teased. “I just wanted to see you again. Is it so hard to believe that I’ve missed you?”

“No, because I missed you, too,” Claude told her. He sighed quietly. “Though I do wish the circumstances of your visit were different. Do you know how many women I’ve had to entertain in the last few months?”

“It must be such a chore,” Hilda said sarcastically. “Is that why you’re growing out your sideburns?”

“They do seem to scare off the weak-willed,” Claude laughed.

“Then clearly they’ve never seen you sweaty and shirtless. The chest hair would be a real turn-on, let me tell you.” The pair of them laughed.

“All the same,” Claude said. “It’s nice to see someone who isn’t around me just for my title.”

Hilda’s brow furrowed. “Then why don’t you go out and visit everyone?”

“I see everyone enough,” Claude said defensively. “I see Ignatz and Raphael when the merchants come to Derdriu. Leonie sometimes joins them to trade pelts. Lysithea and Mari come into Derdriu with their parents at least a couple of times a year. Even Lorenz—“ Claude cut himself off when he saw Hilda’s pained expression. “It’s enough.”

Hilda chewed on her lip, avoiding looking Claude in the eye. “I write to our friends too, you know. I know when you’re lying to me.” Her eyebrows raised slightly. “Ignatz told me the last time he saw you was more than eight months ago? And Leonie and Raph even longer?” She sighed when Claude did not answer. “When was the last time you were even outside of Derdriu?”

“The beginning of the Great Tree Moon, 1181,” Claude muttered without thinking. Hilda’s eyes widened.

“Seiros’s fucking crest,” she muttered. “You need a life. Maybe you _should_ get married.”

“I have a life,” Claude sighed. “And I’m married to my work. Anything beyond that is. . . I just don’t have time.”

“Don’t have time or don’t want to make time?” The air hung silent for a while. “You know,” Hilda began again. “Holst told me that you still speak about the professor.”

Claude said nothing.

“He asked me if she was truly the second coming of Sothis as you describe her.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “And what did you tell him?”

“That it was all true,” Hilda said simply. “I didn’t even hesitate for a second. I don’t think he normally would have believed me, but it just so happened that Lysithea was with me that day, and she backed me up.” Hilda gave a knowing smirk. “And a respectable girl like her would _never_ lie about something like that.”

“Hils, if I didn’t know you were trouble, I’d ask you to marry me right now,” Claude teased. Hilda laughed and rolled her eyes. “Why did you say that, though? The last time I wrote to you about my theory that she survived the fall, you thought it was paranoid ramblings.”

“Because it _was_ paranoid ramblings,” Hilda said. “So you had a dream shortly after we returned home where a scantily-clad woman with green hair that kinda-looked-like-Byleth-but-not-completely told you she was still alive. So what? That sounds more like a wet dream than a vision to me.”

“Ouch.”

“But the point is, that you believe it,” Hilda said. She looked Claude intently in the eye. “You were the only one that knew about her powers and were able to experience the reversal of time while keeping your memories in tact. And even after all the shit you two went through surrounding that, you were her favorite. You always were, we all knew that from the moment you first called her ‘Teach.’ So if she was going to use her powers to tell anyone out there that she was still alive, it would be you.”

Claude smiled, but said nothing, unsure how to respond to such a speech. Hilda set down her cup, emptied of its contents and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Okay, now it’s your turn.”

Claude raise an eyebrow. “My turn for what?”

“I just aired out my dirty laundry surrounding my love life,” Hilda started. “When are you going to air out yours?”

Claude looked away from her, absently playing with the gold hoop in his ear.

“I know you were with Petra. . . But this. . . Thing, this obsession that you have with the professor and wanting her to come back. . . Doesn’t that tell you that there’s more going on?”

Claude still said nothing, not out of defiance, but more a lack of an ability to answer her. He thought of Sothis, of the prediction she gave him over three years ago. Three long, war-filled years. How could Claude even begin to explain what all of it meant to him? What pieces could he give that would explain how he felt for Byleth without making him seem like more of a mad man than Hilda already suspected?

“I realized I had feelings for her after she changed,” Claude confessed. He smirked to himself. “Technically, I realized before then, but. . . I was in denial. Because I didn’t want to hurt Petra more than my relationship with Teach already had, and I was still a little hurt by—I was still dealing with—“ Claude huffed. “For fuck’s sake. I was just a kid, Hils.” His hands trembled slightly. That was beginning to happen more frequently. Claude’s physician wondered on more than one occasion if it was a by-product of his hands being crushed, but she could never find anything in her books on healing that were conclusive enough to confirm or deny the theory. “I was doing the best I could to hold my life together. I made some mistakes, but at at least I was trying.” Hilda held firmly onto his hand, squeezing it assuringly. “But you’re right that I am still holding onto her. I still want to make up for everything that happened between she and I at the academy. . . And frankly, I miss her, Hils. I would give anything to see Byleth again.” To _actually_ see her. _To touch her. . ._

Hilda reached out and took his hand, eyes sympathetic. “Promise me something, Claude.”

“Anything.”

“Come visit me next month,” she said. “Get yourself out your own head, remind yourself that you are still a kid. Twenty-one is pretty young, you know.” She did her best to smile. “We can look out beyond Fódlan’s Locket at the border of the Alliance, ride on wyverns, get drunk and embarrass my brother.” Claude at least laughed at that. “It’ll be a blast.”

Claude hummed to himself, kissing the top of Hilda’s head. He couldn’t travel the next month. A duke up to the north was having issues with thieves from the kingdom side of the border stealing his sheep. He was supposed to come down to discuss the possibility of a rising rebellion, because the number of sheep disappearing were enough to feed a hundred men. And if that was true—

“You’re right,” Claude said. It would be easier to let her down over a letter. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

Round table meetings grew longer and more frequent. It was well into the night before Claude reached his room and tossed himself onto the over-sized mattress. He groaned, long and dramatic, trying to release the pent-up frustration of telling a bunch of middle-aged assholes how to stay out of a war without mistreating their tenants. A slew of Almyran curses flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

“‘You know, I didn’t quite catch that last word. It sounded like ‘fish heads’ to me. Is that supposed to mean something in context?” Claude looked up, and found Soleth sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling down at him. “Long day?”

Claude sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. His heart pounded so oddly in his chest that he swore she would be able to hear it. “Your Almyran is getting better.”

“Shame I only ever seem to learn such angry words from you.” Her eyes crinkled. Those beautiful, bright green eyes. Byleth’s eyes.

But she was not Byleth. Not wholly, at least. Not in the ways Claude wanted her to be.

“Sorry,” he said. “I should probably teach you nicer things.”

“Eh,” Soleth said with a shrug. “What you teach me makes the world more. . .” She paused as if to think, a sly grin on her lips. “Colorful.”

Claude chuckled.

She laid down next to him and extended her hand, palm facing him. It was a common practice with her. On the rare nights where she appeared in his dreams, they always tried. At least once. Claude extended his own hand, reaching his fingertips towards hers.

And felt nothing.

Soleth sighed and rolled over, disappointment clear on her face.

“What’s the point of coming here if I can’t even touch you?” she asked.

“The pleasure of my company isn’t enough for you?”

“The only thing you’re good for is teaching me how to curse in a foreign language.”

Claude chuckled. He could not argue with that. He glanced over at the apparition of the woman he lost, and thought her face looked clouded somehow. “What’s on your mind?”

“We are remembering more things,” she whispered. “Half of me dreams of a time long past, where men warred with each other for powers forgotten by this world, where we tried to bring peace and were paid back with the slaughtering of our children. . .” She took a shuddering breath. “The other half of me dreams of a blank slate. A hand comes to write words on the board, but they wash off every time. I’ve had that dream more times than I can count.”

“Is it your hand writing on the slate?”

“No. I think I am the slate. Half of me, at least.” Claude had a guess which half it was. Byleth had been compared to a blank slate on more than one occasion when Claude first met her at the academy. “The hand that tries to write on the slate is the hand of a woman. She has green hair and eyes like ours, but. . .” She clutched her hands to her head as her breathing became shallow. “We do not remember who she is. . .” She groaned, as if in pain. “We cannot remember!”

“Is it Rhea?”

Soleth gasped, like she had just come to the surface after being underwater, sucking in long breaths at the name. “Rhea,” she hissed. “Why does that name fill me with fear?”

In an instant, she was at Claude’s desk, picking up the well-read journal that Claude never put away. It infuriated Claude—not for the first time—how she could always interact with everything around her except him. “There is an entry in here,” Soleth muttered. “That I read to you once. Half of me was born without a heartbeat and yet I still lived.” Her fingers rested on one of the pages. “Did she do this to me?”

“I assume so,” Claude confessed. “But with her and Jeralt both gone, I don’t know how we could know for certain.”

Soleth gave him a look. A look of undercurrent frustration that was so distinctly Byleth that it made Claude’s heart ache. “Just another mystery. . .” she muttered. “Another thing out of our control.” Claude leaned closer to her. His instincts were to comfort her, to hold her. But of course, that was not an option. “Do you know why I picked you, out of all three lords?”

Claude leaned back on his bed, trying to guess where the conversation was going. “I was told it as because of my astonishingly horrible ability to lie,” he replied with a laugh.

“It was because you were the only one who saw a person rather than a blank slate.”

Claude blinked. Soleth giggled.

“Edelgard and Dimitri both only saw how Byleth the Ashen Demon could benefit their nations. What endeared you to me was the fact that you acknowledged my power, but you wanted to get to know me before asking anything of me. And even after I picked you, you were always pestering me in my spare time, begging for stories about my past. . . I learned to love it. And. . . That was when the Byleth half of me started feeling things.” She set down Jeralt’s diary. “First it was just a curiosity, whether you truly just wanted something like the others, how long you would keep showing up at my door before you got bored. Then, an eagerness to share more stories with you. To see you smile, hear you laugh, to know that I was the one who brought you joy. . . Then, a jealousy. Because you were handsome, and there were always girls around you.”

“There were not always—“

“There were _always_ girls around you,” Soleth asserted. She shot him a glare then closed her eyes. “But you were too preoccupied with death threats to notice. And after the death threats came Petra. And after Petra, our big fight. . .” She let out a long sigh. “All of it left writing on an otherwise blank slate. It’s not that nothing was there before, but. . . Being around you seemed to pull things to the surface. The good and the bad.”

Claude swallowed down the lump of guilt in his throat. “Have I apologized yet, for blowing up on you at Gronder Field?”

Soleth chuckled. “Only every other time I see you.”

“I am sorry.”

“I know, Claude.”

“I miss you.”

“. . . I know.” She moved over to Claude’s small bookshelf, lightly touching the second journal that rested there, the one covered in a fine layer of dust. “Why do you only read Jeralt’s diary?” she asked. “You have studied it so frequently that you could probably recite it word for word. . . You can find pieces of the half of me that you miss in her diary. Yet you do not touch it.”

“It seems like an invasion of privacy.”

Soleth giggled. “Has that ever stopped you before?” she asked. There was a hint of flirtation in her tone. “Besides, I’m giving you permission to go through it.”

“Maybe I’m afraid, then.”

Soleth tilted her head. “You have no reason to be afraid.”

Claude shook his head. “I-I don’t want to see my own name,” he said. That damned tremor started in his hands again. “To see the ways that I hurt you—“

Soleth was back at his side, lifting her hands to his face and going right through him. “Goddess, if I could only just touch you—“ Soleth growled in frustration. “Yes, you have hurt me. And I have hurt you. But that was three years ago now. We have spent enough time apologizing to each other. I will return to you one day, and when I do, I don’t want to just be right where we left off. . .” She lowered her gaze. “I. . . think we’ve spent enough time with each other to admit what we want from one another.”

A lump formed in Claude’s throat. He lifted his hand again, allowing Soleth the opportunity to do the same. “I would give the world just to hold you in my arms.”

“Would that be enough? Just to hold me once?”

Claude gazed into her eyes, unblinking.”No.”

Soleth lifted her hand to his once again, holding it in just the right position so that it appeared they were touching.

“I would give the world to wake up and find out.”

“I am sick of this!” Count Gloucester bursted, his face contorted in rage as he looked down at Claude. The younger man kept his face serene. If there was going to be a scene, let Count Gloucester make it. Then at least the other nobles would only see Claude’s composure in comparison. There had been rumors of Claude being too young, too inexperienced to lead the Alliance as the neighboring war grew more dire. Claude did not doubt they were started by those who were secretly joining sides with Adrestia. His charms were the only thing helping him keep his position on most days. He could not afford to slip up now. “We need an army, Duke Riegan! These bandit attacks are getting out of control and the fighting encroaches on our borders daily. When will you fulfill my request? You half-blooded—!”

“Perhaps we are all tired,” Claude said, taking note of the setting sun. Below the table, his hand trembled with anger. “Let us adjourn until tomorrow when we have had some food and rest.” Count Gloucester fumed, but he could hardly refuse when the other nobles were already rising to leave the table. Beside him, Lorenz sat quietly, his eyes fixed on Claude. He had not spoken for the entire meeting, instead allowing his father to speak for him.

Count Gloucester leaned over his son. “See if you can talk some sense into him,” he whispered fiercely.

Claude found himself frowning. The count asked for more men to be sent to his territory at least twice a year, and Claude always gave him the same answer. He would not make any action that could be interpreted as an intention for war. The battles between the Empire and the Knights of Seiros were sending enough refugees into Leicester as it was. They brought tales of fire and death and blood wherever they went. Claude did not want to make refugees of his own people, as well.

Lorenz stood up and stiffly walked over to Claude. When he bowed, he said, “Duke Riegan, I would be honored if you joined me in the city for dinner tonight.”

“I would be happy to,” Claude replied, trying to sound as pleasant as possible. He always resented Lorenz for being a pawn in his father’s game. Really, what Hilda saw in the man was beyond him. Still, he arranged a time and place to meet, returned home briefly to wash up and change, then arrived at the small restaurant on the edge of the city, where just him and Lorenz sat at a balcony table. The entire time they ate, Claude was on the defensive, expecting Lorenz to bring up politics or honor or noble bloodlines as his father had asked.

Instead, they talked of Garreg Mach.

They spoke of their old friends, the times that they missed. Claude even found himself laughing as Lorenz recalled some of the pranks that he had witnessed Claude pull. “Poor Hanneman never even realized the paper note was stuck to his head!” Lorenz chortled. “I always wondered how you managed that.”

“Sometimes the simple answer is the best answer, my friend,” Claude laughed. “I coated the back of the paper with honey.”

Lorenz’s eyes widened, then he guffawed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Really, von Riegan, where do you even come up with this stuff?”

“I have a gift for it, I guess,” Claude said with a smirk.

“A dark gift, but I suppose you’re right,” Lorenz’s chuckled. His smile faltered. “Goddess, I hated you so much in those days. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t think your little jokes were amusing.” His eyes narrowed. “When they weren’t aimed at me.”

“If it makes you feel better, you didn’t get the worst of it,” Claude assured him.

“Oh?” Lorenz asked, leaning forward with his chin rested on his hand. “Was there someone you hated more than me?”

“Not technically,” Claude admitted. His smile faltered. “Do you remember when someone tried to assassinate me?”

Lorenz’s eyes glinted. “Of course I do.”

“I. . . Sort of got the wrong guy at first.” When Lorenz raised his eyebrows quizzically, Claude told him of the poison that he gave to the Blue Lion student, after learning that he could fold the paper animals. Neither was laughing by the time he concluded. “In the end, I never saw the kid again. I don’t know what I would have done or said if I did, but I hope he didn’t drop out because of me. . . Not like it mattered in the end, anyway. Technically, none of us graduated, did we?”

“No, we did not,” Lorenz replied somberly. A barmaid came by asking if either of the gentlemen would like a drink, and Lorenz ordered two glasses of wine. “I hate this war,” he muttered after she walked away. “We aren’t even fighting in it and it’s affecting our lives so strongly.”

Claude tensed up, anticipating the talk he had been dreading all night.

“I am sorry about my father,” Lorenz muttered. “He is trying to do the right thing, but he has a knack for being closed-minded when he thinks he’s in the right. A trait we share, I’m afraid.” He tried to smile and failed.

“You don’t have to end up like your father, Lorenz,” Claude reminded him. Lorenz shook his head.

“Perhaps,” Lorenz said. “I guess we won’t know if I’ll ever try to be my own man until the opportunity presents itself, now will we?”

Claude gave him a sad smile. “I guess not.”

The barmaid returned and handed each man a glass of thick, red wine. Lorenz raised his stem for a toast. “To the end of this fucked up war,” he said. And together, they drank. Claude could tell the purple-haired man still had something on his mind, but he waited patiently for Lorenz to bring it up. “How’s Hilda, by the way? I heard she visited you not too long ago.”

Claude resisted the urge to smile. He detected notes in Lorenz’s voice that were similar to the ones Hilda had when speaking of him. “She’s good,” he replied. “We talked about you, if you must know.”

Lorenz scoffed. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

“She only told me good things, actually.”

Lorenz raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?”

“It’s not a trap,” Claude promised with a laugh. “Seriously.”

Lorenz shifted in his seat. “Things like what?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“We haven’t spoken in years.”

“All the more reason to talk to her.”

Lorenz took a long sip of his wine. “Now I remember why I don’t like you.”

1184 -

“Duke Riegan?” a servant called. Claude loosed his arrow, hitting the target dummy in front of him right in the chest. He still wasn’t quite used to the feel of Failnaught in his hands, but he was certainly improving. It had taken all of his strength just to use a regular bow again once the tremors in his hands started. But the exercise seemed to help. And now, Claude was slowly growing in his ability to wield his family’s relic, as well. If only the bow string wasn’t so tight. . .

“How can I help you?” Claude asked.

“It appears some our sheep have gone missing,” the servant told him. Claude turned around to look at the boy. Fear filled his countenance. Claude wondered if he feared that Claude would punish him for the bad news. He had hired the boy from off the streets only a few months prior. There was no telling what sort of life he had lived before then.

“How many?” Claude asked, lowering his bow. The boy watched it intently, his knees knocking together.

“Th-three,” the boy replied.

“Do you think it is a wolf?” Claude knew it wasn’t wolves, but he could not let on to that. The boy violently shook his head.

“No, sir. There was no blood. Just like yesterday. The shepherds did a head count and were three short. . . Duke Riegan.”

Claude pretended to be puzzled by the news, running his gloved hand through his hair. “Can you send the head shepherd here so I may speak with him about the manner?”

“Yes, sir!” The boy started to run out of the courtyard.

“And when you’re done?” Claude called, forcing the boy to halt suddenly. He turned towards Claude once more, eyes wide. His face had filled out since the last time Claude saw him, but his cheeks were still more hollow and eyes more sunken in than they ought to be. Claude did his best to smile kindly. “Go into the kitchens and ask for a hot meal, then get some rest.” He turned back to the targets, taking aim once more. He had already started plans to convert part of his mostly-unused mansion into an orphanage for the increasing number of refugee children. In a few short months, hopefully the kid would no longer be the only child on the streets that Claude could feed. “Duke’s orders.”

“Did anyone see you?” Claude hissed, ushering the four hooded figures into his stables.

“No. I don’t think so,” Sylvain whispered back, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

It was late at night. Claude made sure that his friends would time their arrival that way, so not even his own staff would know they had been there. No witnesses meant no crime. And Edelgard had made it very clear that aiding Faergus rebels would be an act of war, no matter where in Fódlan it occurred. Claude suspected that one of his neighbors was an Empire loyalist, which gave even more rise to be careful. More and more had popped up since Count Gloucester announced his allegiance to the Adrestian Empire the month prior.

He led Mercedes, Sylvain, Felix and Ingrid to the back-most stall, where he had stashed provisions under the hay. “Take as much at the wyverns and Pegasi will carry,” he whispered. “It’s not as much as I promised. My shepherds are noticing when I give you sheep, so—“

“It’s enough,” Mercedes assured him. She smiled fondly at him, but he did not return the gesture. He had to stay focused. He would never forgive himself if his friends were caught because he was careless.

“I can help you load everything,” he said. “Then I have to go back inside. My housemistress sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night and wanders the main hall. I don’t want her to notice us standing around chatting.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” Felix muttered. He unlaced his fingers from Ingrid’s and took the first bundle of preserved food from Claude, walking it outside. The others followed suit, and their animals were packed to capacity in only a few trips.

“I’ll send you a new code cypher by the end of the month,” Claude said to Sylvain before he mounted his wyvern. “We’ve been using the old one long enough that someone may have cracked the code by now if they’d been intercepting our messages. I’ll drop it at our usual spot.”

Sylvain smiled and clapped the other man on the shoulder. “How can we ever repay you?” he asked.

Claude hardly had to think of an answer. “Don’t die.”

Claude slept. And woke up. And slept. And woke up again. He did not dream. He never dreamed anymore.

It had been months since Soleth appeared to him.

Whenever another morning came without her presence, Claude feared a little more that he had lost her for good.

1185 -

Edelgard was encroaching on the Alliance’s borders, no longer content just with taking the Kingdom of Faergus under her rule in the name of ending the church’s reign. Claude hated to admit it, but she had a good mind for war. Her soldiers were unmarked, and they attacked sporadically, without pattern or warning, often taking spoils from the villages they ravaged. Most of the nobles suspected it was a burglar problem. “After all,” one man said to Claude, “We all know Faergus’s people have grown mad with hunger and anger. Perhaps they no longer recognize friend from foe?”

But they weren’t Kingdom bandits. Claude knew it. Count Gloucester knew it. And all the while they stood at a stalemate, neither man acknowledging the other at the large round table. Each daring the other to join the war in earnest.

It had been months since Claude had received an offer of marriage. So when Claude entered his room that night and found a naked woman in his bed, he almost didn’t understand what was going on. “My Duke Riegan,” the young woman purred. She rose and walked languidly to meet him, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. Claude’s body responded to the sight of her before his brain could catch up. “It would be my honor to spend a night in your bed.” She nibbled on his earlobe just above his piercing, moaning softly as she did.

Claude closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. She smelled of spring flowers, impossibly sweet and warm for how cold it was outside. Her lips trailed along his jaw until they found his is the low lighting of the room.

It wasn’t that she was pretty, or that Claude knew who she was or even _wanted_ to know who she was. But he leaned into her kiss, hands instinctively pulling her closer, because dear gods when was the last time anyone had even _touched_ him? Let alone offered him such intimacy?

But when she whispered his name, it was another woman’s voice that he heard.

He stopped kissing her, pulling away his hands and taking a step back, keeping his eyes firmly on hers. “It would be no one’s honor to lie with me,” he said. He ignored the woman’s protests as he walked around her, picking her dress up off the floor. “Get dressed, then get out,” he growled. “Get out!” For a moment, she looked truly afraid of him. Claude refused to let himself feel guilty. He walked over to his desk, lighting a candle then pulling out some parchment and his quill to make himself appear busy, willfully ignoring his own internal protests all the while. He hoped his act of indifference would force her to leave quicker. Sure enough, not a minute later, he heard his door open then close, followed by the soft padding of feet running away.

Claude felt like he was about to collapse.

“She was pretty,” a voice spoke in his ear. Claude heart raced faster, if that were even possible. He told himself stubbornly that it was only seeing the other woman naked that had stirred up a feeling of excitement within him.

“Was she?” Claude asked, trying to keep his tone level. “I hardly noticed.”

“Liar,” the voice chuckled. “I can see how flustered you are.” Soleth pulled away, leaving Claude begging to feel a touch that was never there to begin with. He hated how strongly he craved her. “Why was that woman in your room?” she asked. “Was she intending to make love to you?”

“I don’t think love had anything to do with it,” Claude said with a dark laugh.

Soleth turned to him suddenly. “I wonder if I have ever made love to anyone? It is hard to sort through the flashes of memory sometimes—” Quickly, she answered her own question. “Half of me has.”

“Do you mean Byleth?” Claude guessed half-heartedly.

Soleth glared down at him. “No,” she said firmly.

“That’s not what she told me.”

Soleth’s brow furrowed. “It’s like you said. Love had nothing to do with it.” Suddenly, her face relaxed, a smile curling her lips. “But half of me. . . Oh, half of me has experienced love like you would never _believe_. I could tell you stories that would make even you blush, I think.” She giggled at the thought.

“Some other time, perhaps,” Claude said, and he turned back to his desk. He could hear Soleth huff.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

“Picked up on that, did you?”

“”You’re being unfair.”

“I’m not the one who’s been gone for almost two years!” Claude snapped. He set down his quill, still not looking at her. The pounding in his chest was almost painful. “I don’t mean to be. . . short with you. But Soleth, this war continues to put more and more pressure on me, and I haven’t had you to lean on. I needed you, and you weren’t there. And now you just. . . show up again, wanting to tease me about sex and love like it’s nothing?” His face grew hot at the words. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I thought you had abandoned me.”

Soleth said nothing for a long time. “Does that sound like something I would do?” she asked.

“No,” Claude said miserably. “But everyone else has. That. . . Or I have abandoned them. Gods, I don’t even know anymore. Everything is work. Everything is carefully calculated actions and reactions and fighting and feeding starving children and—” He ran a hand through his hair. One strand immediately fell back in his face. “When did I become a machine, Soleth?”

He finally looked back up at her, and she was frowning. Not in anger or annoyance, but in sorrow. Then, she was on the other side of the room, pulling open the drawer under Claude’s vanity.

“What are you doing?” Claude asked. 

“I did not know I had been gone so long,” Soleth murmured. “I’m sorry.” She lifted something out of the drawer, holding it delicately in her hands like she feared it might break. Claude stood up, walked over, stopped himself when he realized it was the braid he cut the day of his grandfather’s funeral. “I only knew that I have been growing weary, and it has been taking much out of me just to try and see you again.” Claude reached out to touch her shoulder, knowing full well his hand would only meet air. “If it has truly been so long since I last appeared before you. . . We have to face the fact that this might be the last time I come here.” She put the braid away again then took a step away from him.

“Then let’s make it count for something,” Claude said, stopping Soleth from taking another step away. When she looked back up at him, his eyes started watering. Gods, he had missed her. Though time chipped away at his youth and his resolve, she still looked just as untouched by the scars of the world as she had when Claude first saw her on his balcony. Just as beautiful.

“You’re staring,” Soleth said.

“I’m taking you in.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Probably not,” Claude admitted.

Soleth smiled. She walked around him over to his bed, where she sat down, patting the place beside her. Claude sat where she gestured. And when Soleth lifted her hand, he lifted his too. They still could not touch, but Claude felt comfort in the action regardless. “What have I missed?”

They lay on his bed side by side, while Claude caught her up on everything she had missed since the last time Claude had seen her. How he had started aiding the rebellion in Faergus, how Edelgard’s army starting chipping away at the Alliance’s defenses. “I think we will have to go to war soon. Edelgard is forcing my hand.”

“I thought she wanted you out of the war?”

“I think it would be more accurate to say that she wants me to roll on my back like a dog, something I don’t plan on doing.”

“I fear you may be right,” Soleth murmured.

Claude looked over at her. The area around her eyes was dark, almost sunken in, as if she had not slept in days. “You look tired.”

“I am tired,” she said with a nod.

“Is it because you are here?”

Soleth nodded again. A tear ran down the side of her face, and she did nothing to wipe it away. Claude felt a dull ache in his chest.

“If you need to go, then go,” he whispered, though he too was beginning to cry. “Don’t strain yourself for my sake.”

“Can you teach me something, before I go?” Her lower lip was quivering.

“Anything,” Claude told her.

“There’s an Almyran phrase that I wish to know. . .”

Claude laughed breathily. “You mean you haven’t gotten your fill of that yet?” he said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. If this was going to be the last time he would see her—

“How do you say ‘I love you’?”

Claude blinked at her, and she laughed nervously.

“It’s a simple enough phrase. But I realized that I never learned how to say it.”

Claude fumbled in his mind. And not just because of the implications on why she wanted to learn the phrase. He knew for a long time that he loved her, though he never said it. It was too painful to say to someone you only saw in your dreams. And he never expected it from her, either. But if she did love him— _Focus, Claude_.

Almyrans did not have a word that directly translated to “love”, because their view of love was different than the typical view of the word in Fódlan. Love was not a feeling to them, it was the choice to offer up your life to the person you loved. To put their needs before your own. To offer strength at their weakest points, both mentally and physically. It was why so many Almyran warriors tended to marry the people they fought alongside in battle. Still, Claude knew the phrase that would best translate to what Soleth was asking, even if the words meant something a little different. “_T’amr mura_,” he said to her.

Soleth tilted her head. Claude was certain she knew each of the words separately. He had taught them to her, after all. She was likely trying to put together how “give” and “strength” would interpret as “love,” but still she seemed to accept it.

“_T’amr mura_,” she whispered to herself. She sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you are to go to war soon, then you will certainly need strength to win.”

Claude laughed breathily. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

“Do you need Byleth’s strength?”

Claude faltered, unsure how exactly to answer that question without making his heart ache. “I do need her strength,” he confessed.

Soleth sighed. She leaned down over Claude’s chair as if to brush her lips against his. “Then you will see her soon. I’m certain she will be more than happy to give you the strength you need to win,” she said. Claude reached his arms up to her, but she pulled away. “Goodnight, Claude.”

Claude’s eyes blinked open and he lifted his head. His eyes met the wooden surface of his desk. “Shit,” he muttered. He must have fallen asleep at his desk after that girl left. He straightened his back—gods, was he stiff!—and turned around to check the rest of his room. Nobody was there.

Claude rubbed the sides of his temples. He wondered what time it was. Based on the lighting in the room, he had to guess just before sunrise. The candle at his desk was still burning, miraculously. He glanced at his calendar, counting out the days until the month ended. It was the twenty-seventh day of the Red Wolf Moon. In a little more than a month, it would be a new year. No doubt it would look like the last—Claude paused. What year was it, again? He counted it out in his head, and his eyes widened.

It was the year 1185. The end of the year would mark five years since the ball at Garreg Mach. In a little more than a month, it would be the millennium celebration.

_Byleth_.

Claude’s heart started beating faster. Was that what Soleth had been referring to? Could she have meant that Byleth would return at the thousand-year anniversary? Byleth had promised him that she would be there, after all. Byleth never broke a promise. Yes, Claude decided. That had to be what she meant.

And when she showed up at the monastery, he was going to be there to meet her.

He smiled to himself, feeling foolishly hopeful for the first time in—he didn’t know how long! Claude pulled out his quill and wrote eleven nearly-identical letters. When the ink had dried, he sealed each with wax and a small wooden button he used when his family crest was too dangerous if identified. It would be necessary for four of the recipients, and for the other seven. . . Claude just liked the silliness of it. He would have to wait until the morning sun fully rose to send them off. Then, he would have to start preparing for Byleth’s return, and all that it implied. But for that moment, he was excited.

Seven days before the month ended, Claude packed his seldom-used traveling clothes, along with the two journals he had saved from Byleth’s room, grabbed his bow and an axe, and stalked towards the stables to saddle a wyvern. It was late in the night, but that hardly mattered. Claude doubted he would have been able to sleep anyway. Not with the hope that he would soon see Byleth again. A noise behind him alerted Claude that someone was following him. He drew his knife and turned to face Nader.

“Going somewhere, kiddo?” he asked.

Claude sheathed his knife. “Don’t try to stop me,” he said.

Nader chuckled. “What makes you think I would ever do such a thing?”

Claude huffed and turned back to the stables.

“Are you at least going to tell me where you’re going? You know, so I have something to tell the stuffy nobles tomorrow when they ask why you didn’t show up to the council meeting?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Claude called over his shoulder. “You’re quick in a pinch.” He ducked under the doorway and threw his bag onto the pre-saddled wyvern. Nader followed him in.

“You haven’t left the city in five years,” he said. Claude ignored him. “I’m not saying don’t go, but at least let me go with you so I can have your back.”

“No,” Claude said. “You’re the only person I trust to be my retainer and keep things running smoothly while I’m gone.” He gave Nader a sly grin. “Though I will kindly ask that you don’t strangle Count Gloucester. At least while there are witnesses around.”

“Does this mean you’ll be gone for a long time?” Nader guessed.

Claude hesitated. “If I don’t find what I’m looking for, I’ll be back in three days. That’s the only certainty I can give.” He led the wyvern out into the open then climbed onto his back.

“And if you do find what you’re looking for?”

“Then I’ll owe you a very big explanation.” Claude saluted his old friend then commanded the wyvern to fly. His heart soared as the ground disappeared beneath the beast’s feet. Claude felt lighter than air, excited and terrified to leave the confines of his city for the first time since he accepted defeat at Garreg Mach. He turned the wyvern west then urged it onward. It would be a long night, but Claude was confident he could make it to the monastery by daybreak. He only prayed that she would be there. He prayed that his gut feeling was right. The rhythm of his heartbeat spoke her name.

_Byleth._

_Byleth._

_Byleth._


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After five long years, it is finally the day of the Millennium Festival, and time for a Golden Deer reunion.

The rising sun crept over Claude’s shoulder, illuminating what remained of the once grand monastery building. Claude landed his wyvern in the stables, hoping there was enough room for the poor animal to rest. “You did good, my friend,” he whispered as he patted its nose. He hastily unloaded his belongings and removed the saddle from the wyvern’s back. When it had settled under an awning, Claude raced for Byleth’s room. He was still wearing his padded coat and pants that kept him warm up in the frigid air, but he didn’t care how he looked. He only cared about seeking his old professor.

“Teach!” he called, running past the academy classrooms. He received no reply. All of the doors were flung open, and Claude found no one inside. Desks and shelves were turned over, and books were strewn across the floor, covered in dust and mildew. Claude’s fists clenched, and he gritted his teeth thinking of the last time he had been at the monastery. War was shitty. He had told that to someone once, so long ago that he could not remember who. He pushed onward. Perhaps Byleth was in her room.

The door was jammed. Claude wriggled the handle and debated on busting the door open. But he thought better of it. If the room was locked, perhaps it meant it had been untouched by time. He did not want to ruin that for his friend. “Teach?” he called, just in case, but he heard no reply.

Claude searched everywhere. The dormitories, the reception hall, the pond, the kitchens, the classrooms, the cemetery, the professors’s offices, even Rhea’s quarters, and all he found was rubble and dust.

There was no one there but him.

Feeling disheartened, Claude trudged past the bridge to the massive church building. He doubted Byleth would be there, as she was never particularly sympathetic to the religion of Seiros, but it was the only place he had not looked. The ceiling had caved in under the weight of the old attack, leaving a pile of stone where the alter used to be. Claude stood in the middle aisle and stared at it for a while. He was not fond of the religion, but he could imagine what a symbol of defeat that would be to look at for a devout believer in Sothis. That somehow made him sad.

After peering in the side rooms and wandering around the paths and balconies, Claude confirmed once and for all that there was nobody there.

Byleth wasn’t there.

And he had been _so_ sure. . .

_Might as well not waste the morning_, Claude thought, looking up at the dawning sky. He climbed the goddess tower, hoping to get a good view of the sky’s changing colors before the morning turned it all blue. He found himself on the same level that he had been on with Petra the night of the winter ball. Smiling, he leaned out of the tall window. The memory was oddly a fond one now. He had stopped grieving his relationship with Petra long ago, though he still regretted her situation as a hostage. There was nothing that could be done about that, though. Not that Claude knew of.

As the morning grew lighter, the sky turned a marvelous shade of pink. So much had changed in five years, Claude realized, but he still loved the look of the sun rising over the mountains.

Why had he waited so long to travel again?

“Don’t move,” a female voice growled. Claude felt cold steel pressed against his throat. He cursed himself inwardly. With all of his yelling, he likely attracted some nearby bandits. What a fool he was. “That’s a nice coat,” the woman said, her voice as hard as her blade. “I wonder how many people had to suffer at your hands in order to get the money for it.”

_Great_, Claude thought annoyedly. _Not just a bandit, but one with a complex about nobility_. He didn’t necessarily blame her, but in the moment her assumption was not only incorrect, but an inconvenience.

“Look here, miss,” Claude said slowly. “I think you have the wrong idea about me. Why don’t we just move the knife and have a nice little chat like civilized people?”

With a single swipe, Claude knocked the bandit’s knife out of her hand and turned around, pressing his own knife against her throat. She grunted, looking at him proudly with gritted teeth and raging green eyes.

Claude knew those eyes.

“Teach?” Claude gasped, dropping his knife. He took a step back, stabling himself against the half-crumbled wall.

Even after years of only seeing Byleth as a vision, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was her. Her hair had grown out to her waist, and she was covered in dirt and blood, but it was definitely her. She was even wearing the same armor, the gold bangle he had given her on her wrist. . .

And the Sword of the Creator was strapped to her side.

Byleth’s face went from that of rage to confusion before slowly showing a hint of realization. “Claude?” she asked disbelievingly.

“In the flesh,” Claude said, trying to laugh. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it! Byleth was alive! All this time, he had feared that he would never get to look upon _this_ Byleth again, never get to hold her in his arms. But she was there! Standing right in front of him! Oh, gods, he prayed this was not a dream.

Byleth’s eyes squinted up at him. “You have a beard,” she said.

Claude’s smile faltered. He took in her expression, the way she leaned away from him, how her hand was still half-poised to grab the sword at her hip if necessary. And it hit him. She remembered none of it. The late nights speaking to one another, him teaching her Almyran, them confessing their feelings for each other. . .

It was as if none of it ever happened.

“Really? That’s all you have to say after all this time?” Claude asked, trying to keep his tone light-hearted despite the ache in his chest.

Byleth took a hesitant step forward. She lightly touched his chest, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. He could feel it, each tiny circle of heat and pressure. “I remember Rhea turning into a dragon,” she whispered. “Then the man who helped Monica kill my father appeared, and he flung me backwards, and I. . .” Her eyes widened. “I fell!” she said. “Then I woke up in a river, and a man told me that the monastery was destroyed. I asked him how long ago, assuming I only woke up days later—“ her eyes watered. “I didn’t want to believe him when he said five years had passed, but. . . it’s true, isn’t it?”

Despite himself, Claude found his own eyes watering. “It has, my friend,” he replied. “It’s been five years since the battle at Garreg Mach.”

Byleth sobbed. She wavered, and Claude caught her wrist—dirty, but tangible, warm, soft—and pulled her against his chest. The smell of mud and sweat filled his nostrils, and the weight of her falling against him nearly knocked him over—no longer air-light, dense with muscles built by years of training and fighting accompanied by the armor she wore. Claude was nearly overwhelmed by the sensation of her presence. Byleth clutched the back of his coat like she was holding on for dear life. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I failed you.”

“Failed me?” Claude asked. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, nuzzling his face into her hair and allowing himself to be overcome with the joy and relief he felt having her by his side again, ignoring the hurt he felt that she did not remember her stolen moments with him. There would be time to deal with that later. For the moment, Claude savored the feeling of his arms around her, shaking as he was, grateful that he could finally, at last, with full confidence say the two words he had wanted to say for the last five years. “You’re alive,” he whispered. “You could never fail me as long as you’re here.”

Byleth wept in his arms, and he inevitably cried with her. Claude didn’t even care that the open window at his back was blowing in gusts of cold air. He was so afraid that if he let her go, even for a moment, that she would disappear again. He wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let that happen. When Byleth’s breathing slowed, Claude pulled back slightly to look at her. “So. . . you don’t remember anything after you fell?”

Byleth shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I fell, the world went dark. . . and then I woke up.”

“Hmm,” Claude sighed. He rested his chin on her head. “Asleep for five years. . .” Soleth had said the same thing, that she slept when she was not with him. At least that was consistent. Maybe there was some hope in that. “It wouldn’t be the strangest thing you’ve told me, I guess.”

Byleth’s shoulders shook with slight laughter. “Claude?” Byleth asked. She looked back up at him, and her eyes were wide with concern. “Where are the other students? Are they okay?”

“They’re all fine,” Claude told her. “Well. . . The Golden Deer are. Caspar and Linhardt were forced to return to their homes in the Empire, so no one has heard from them in ages. And Sylvain. . . He is alive. That’s all I can guarantee you.”

Byleth furrowed her brow. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’s been a _long_ five years,” Claude told her.

“So it has. . .” Byleth murmured. Her eyes fluttered from Claude’s eyes to further down on his face, and for a moment, he could swear he saw her cheeks flush. It must have been from the cold, however, because she shivered.

“What about the others?” Byleth asked. She pulled away from Claude’s arms, and he was overwhelmed with panic. He reached for her hand, but stopped himself. “The professors and the knights? Seteth, Flayn, Cyril, Rhea?”

“Nobody has seen or heard from them since the battle,” Claude said sadly. “Not even me. We know they get in small battles with Adrestia, and rumors come and go of the knights searching for Rhea, but—”

“What happened to Rhea?” Byleth’s eyes grew determined. “Claude, what happened to Rhea?!” she repeated more harshly.

“I don’t know,” Claude said quickly. “Some people think she is in hiding, others think she was captured or killed by the Adrestian Empire. But nothing is conclusive.” Byleth started pacing the small room.

“I have questions for her.”

“So do I, surely. I also saw her turn into that dragon that fought beside you, my friend.” Byleth said nothing. “If my memory serves me right, I’m sure that’s the same dragon from myth. I believe they called her the Immaculate One.”

Byleth scoffed. “I don’t give a damn what she was called. The fact that she could change in such a way only confirms that there’s more going on than she’s told me—us—everyone!” Her fists clenched reflexively. “And she expected me to take up her duties in her absence, without giving me any clue to the whole story here?!”

“Wait, I’m sorry, what?” Claude asked.

Byleth froze. Her eyes turned to Claude briefly then looked away. “We were supposed to have a talk after the battle. . .” Byleth murmured. “I don’t know if you remember that, but—I was going to tell you then, if I had the chance. . .” She sighed. “Rhea told me if something were to happen to her, then she was going to leave her position—and all that entailed—to me in her stead.” She shot Claude a strained look. “If she is gone, then that makes me the acting archbishop of the Church of Seiros.”

Claude ran a hand through his hair. Of all the ways he imagined of his reunion with her. . . This was at the bottom of the list.

“The war with the Empire is still going on, then?”

Claude sighed. Byleth looked haggard, filthy, and just a little too crazed for his comfort. Another gust of wind blew through, and they both shivered. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go downstairs. I have some food in my pack, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.” He smiled faintly. “And if what you’re saying is true, you haven’t eaten _literally_ in years. We can talk while we eat.”

With little other options, Byleth nodded numbly and allowed Claude to lead her back down to the stables. Once they were sitting down, Byleth’s questions were an unrelenting stream that he could hardly keep up with. Eventually, he suggested that he just start from the beginning and let her questions fill in the blanks, rather than the other way around. He told her about his grandfather dying, seeing his parents, the struggles of dukedom and the rising tension between his nation and Edelgard’s. He did _not_ tell Byleth of her recurring visits in his dreams. That could hardly be set on the table. He did, however, tell her how the Kingdom had a rising rebellion against the Empire, and how that was affecting life in the Leicester Alliance. “When Lorenz’s father officially sided with the Empire, it put the rest of the nobles in disarray. Some still wish to be neutral altogether, many are declaring their allegiance to the empire, and a few. . . A few still pray for the return of a religious leader to guide them. I have my suspicions that it is those nobles who also support the Kingdom Rebellion.”

“Are you one of them?” Byleth asked. There was a knowing glint in her eye as she shoved a half-stale slice of bread in her mouth. “And don’t you dare think about lying to me.”

Claude chuckled darkly. “I keep my friends from freezing or starving to death. That’s hardly an advocacy for rebellion. . . Am I really that readable?”

“I can always read you. You know that,” Byleth replied absently. She froze halfway through licking her fingers. “I _could_ always read you,” she corrected. She nearly dropped her food.

“Shit!” Claude exclaimed. “What’s gotten into—“ He looked up into Byleth’s eyes and saw tears again. She looked away from him, furiously wiping her face with her sleeve.

“If I don’t look at you,” she shuddered. “If I just hear you talk, it’s like nothing happened. It’s still 1181, you’re my eighteen-year-old student just telling me a story, or running through a mission with me. Fuck. . .” Byleth pressed her hands against her face. “Five whole years, Claude! I just lost my dad, and now I’ve lost five years of my life?” She took a deep breath and slowly lowered her hands. “What did I do to the goddess to deserve this torture?”

“I wouldn’t think of it like that,” Claude said. He set down their food and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, smiling assuringly. “You lived when you otherwise should have perished. If your soul had not merged with Sothis’, you could have lost a hell of a lot more. Five years is a small price to pay.” Claude reached for her hand, but she flinched away from him. Claude supposed that wasn’t uncalled for. She didn’t remember what he remembered. He would have to be careful about how familiar he was with her.

“I disagree,” Byleth murmured. “But thank you for trying to cheer me up.” Byleth looked at him then, studying his face. “You aren’t smiling like you used to,” she observed. “You’re doing that thing where it doesn’t reach your eyes.”

“There hasn’t been much to smile about lately,” Claude said, a little more defensively than he intended.

Byleth pressed her lips firmly together. She wanted to argue. Even five years later, Claude knew that face. “How did you know to come here for me?” she asked instead.

_Because you told me you would be here_. Claude shrugged. “It was more of a hunch than anything. Do you know what day it is?” he asked. Byleth shook her head. “It’s the millennium festival. Or it should have been, at least.” Claude gestured out towards the church ruins. “Had this not happened.”

“We were all supposed to meet here for a class reunion,” Byleth recalled. “Does that mean the others are coming?”

Claude shrugged. “I wrote to them. Even those in the Kingdom and the Empire.” He picked up a piece of rubble and threw it at the wall. “I guess we’ll find out soon.”

Byleth kicked her boot into the dirt. “Anything else I need to know about? Has Edelgard grown horns or anything?”

Despite himself, Claude grinned. “Ironically, she does wear a horned headdress in portraits,” he chuckled. There was something tugging at the corner of his brain, something that he hadn’t told her. He was sure it would come to him later. “Are you done eating? We should stretch, do something active. I’m going stiff in this cold.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Claude looked out past the monastery walls. A small plume of smoke could be seen in the distance. “Reports have increasingly been coming in of bandits taking over the area since the church fell,” he said.

Byleth nodded. “The villager I ran into told me something similar,” she said. “That’s why I mistook you for a bandit when I first saw you.” She looked up at Claude, and he suspected they had the same idea.

“Want to make Garreg Mach safe again?” he asked.

Fully armed, the pair crept to the origin of the smoke. In an abandoned area, looking vaguely like a small farming village that Claude remembered visiting during the harvest season five years earlier, several gruff-looking men and women walked to and fro with weapons poised for an attack. Byleth cursed under her breath. “They’ll pay for what they did here,” she growled.

“Easy there,” Claude murmured. “We don’t know how many of them there are. It would be better to lure them out one by one rather than take them all on at once.”

“And here I thought you liked a challenge,” Byleth said. Her eyes were gleaming, bringing a smile to Claude’s face.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little out of practice.”

Byleth drew the Sword of the Creator. “If five years have truly passed, then so am I.” She winked at Claude then picked up a rock from the ground. When she threw it at a half-standing wall, it drew the attention of three of the bandits. “We’ll play it your way, then.”

They crept around to the far side of the wall, where they would be out of sight. When the three who were approaching came within twenty feet, Claude lifted his bow, shooting each in the eye. But he wasn’t fast enough. The last of them cried, “Intruders!” before Claude could take her down.

It was like time sped up. Easily fifteen more men and women came running out of what used to be the town hall, swords raised and murder in their eyes. “Shit,” Claude growled. He took out as many as he could with the red-glowing bow he had inherited with his title, but eventually the bandits came too close for the weapon to be of practical use. Claude slung it over his shoulder and pulled out his axe, shifting its weight in his hands as he prepared for an impact. Byleth was already ahead of him, cutting off two of the men who were trying to run. Another bandit came towards Claude, a battle cry on his lips. Claude swung his axe in return, catching the man in the chest. And leaving his back exposed to the man who had snuck behind him.

A lance burst through the bandit’s abdomen just as Claude turned to face him. He coughed up blood then fell, eyes glazed over. Where he once stood, Lorenz glared down at Claude’s confused expression. “Really, Claude,” he chastised. “You go off on your own for _one_ day and nearly get yourself killed?”

“I had it handled!”

“Clearly,” Lorenz’s replied dryly. He swung his lance downward. “Hurry up, will you? Or the others will take all the glory.”

Claude straightened and followed Lorenz as he charged ahead. Moments later, other familiar faces appeared from every direction. Marianne, Leonie, Raphael, Lysithea, Ignatz. . .

A streak of pink pulled his attention, and Hilda stood side by side with Claude to face the next few thieves. “Surprised to see me?” she asked.

“A little,” Claude admitted. “But I suppose virtue still exists in this crazy world, after all.”

Hilda chuckled, then she swung her axe. Claude hardly felt like he had the opportunity to use his own before the area quieted, streets strewn with the bodies of thieves and murderers. Claude panted, looking around. Movement caught his eye, just to the right of the old town hall. “There’s one more!” he called, pulling out his bow. “He’s trying to escape!” Before he could notch an arrow, the distinct look of Byleth’s dismembered sword flew past his face, striking the fleeing man in his side. With a grunt, he fell. The Golden Deer inched towards each other, weapons raised and eyes peeled for any more stragglers. There appeared to be none.

Leonie broke the tension first. She threw down her lance and ran to Byleth, flinging her arms around the other woman’s shoulders. “Professor!” she exclaimed, with a laugh. “You’re alive after all!”

Everyone else followed suit, sheathing or setting down their weapons to greet Byleth and express their joy in seeing her. Claude stood back, watching them with a sad smile on his face. Lysithea caught sight of him and approached him.

“Oh, no,” she asserted. “You do not get to back out of this.”

“I’m just giving you guys all a chance to—oof!”

Lysithea locked her arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly. “You dumbass,” she muttered. “You may be too pig-headed to visit your own damn friends anymore, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t excited to see you, too.”

“I thought we talked about your language, young lady,” Claude said teasingly.

Lysithea released him from her grip and dramatically rolled her eyes. “Why do I even bother trying to talk to you like an adult?” She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the rest of the group. “Look, I caught dinner. Kill.”

And then, Claude was surrounded. Hands pat his shoulders and arms wrapped around him, and Leonie smiled before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for the reunion reminder,” she whispered to him.

“What’s a house leader for?” Claude replied with a hesitant grin. Leonie chuckled and stepped back. Hilda immediately took her place and slapped him upside the head. “Ow!”

But her back was already turned away from him. “Professor,” she said. “Words cannot properly express how grateful I am to have you back in our lives. The world has gone to utter shit without you and frankly, we’ve needed someone to punish Claude for his bad behavior.”

Claude was certain he turned some stark shade of red at Hilda’s words, though he was uncertain whether it was out of annoyance or embarrassment. He locked eyes with Byleth. She was looking him up and down, and her eyes crinkled in that way that Claude had missed horribly. That only made him feel more dread. By some fortune, before she could open her mouth to berate him, Raphael’s voice bellowed from up above them.

“I think I just found the bandits’ stash!” he called, pulling everyone’s attention to the town hall ruins. “There’s enough gold in here to feed a village for a month!”

“Where do you think it came from?” Hilda wondered as the group climbed the steps to where he was standing.

“The village,” Leonie replied as Ignatz said, “Most likely the church.”

“What do we do with it, then?” Lorenz asked. “We can’t exactly return the church’s property if there’s no church to return it to.”

“We give it to the village,” Byleth said. “Any excess is compensation for the strain of harassment caused by the bandits without the church’s protection.”

“I have no problem with that,” Raphael said, already lifting a chest of gold over his shoulders.”

“Do we just hand it over to the people?” Lysithea wondered. “Make them form a line and give equal amounts to each person?”

“How will we even have time to count out the money?”Lorenz asked.

Claude laughed. “You guys are thinking way too hard about this,” he said with a grin. Everyone looked at him questioningly. Good. It had been too long since Claude had caused any mischief. He had wanted a way to get into the good graces of the locals anyway. Why not have a little fun with it? “Raph, my good man,” he began again, picking up a few bullions laying on the ground. “Follow me with that chest. The rest of you pick up as much of the money as you can then try to catch up.”

A loud cheer boomed across the square as music began to play. Claude felt a large pair of arms lift him into the air and onto someone’s shoulders. The same was being done for Byleth, and Hilda, and a very distraught looking Lorenz. Claude threw his head back and laughed at the sight. After being spun around a few times, he was set down at a table and a drink was forced into his hands. Byleth was set right beside him. “Well, this was certainly not the reaction I expected,” the professor huffed. “When you started throwing coins from the rooftop, I was sure the villagers would take you for a stone thrower and attack you.”

“Oh, some of them had that look in there eyes,” Claude chuckled. “But when they looked down and saw the glittering of coin on the ground, they certainly changed their tune.”

Byleth laughed and took a drink from her cup. “Most people only dream of money being thrown at them, but leave it to Claude von Riegan to make it a reality.”

“If we had left it to the rest of the nobles in our group, we would still be in that drafty bandit lair counting each and every coin. This way, we took care of the problem quicker, had much more fun, and we have even been gifted with free rooms at the inn tonight.” Claude smirked. “They don’t call me the grand schemer for nothing. And I’m glad I got the chance to bathe.”

Byleth squinted her eyes at him. “Speaking of that, I need to do something about all this hair.” She gestured to the length of it, freshly cleaned and laying across her strong shoulders, down the length of her torso. “It took me nearly an hour to wash it, and while I’m willing to admit part of it may have been because it hasn’t been washed in five years—“

“Do you not like your hair long?” Claude asked.

Byleth made a face and shook her head. “I’ve never had long hair before. I’m not particularly against it, just not used to it.”

“Well, it looks good on you,” Claude said. His heart skipped a beat when she looked up at him with eyebrows raised. “Why not keep it for a few days? Maybe the new length will grow on you.”

Byleth frowned at him. “That has to be the worst pun I have ever heard.”

Claude threw his head back and laughed.

“Ah, there it is,” Byleth said with a grin.

“There what is, Teach?”

“Your real smile. I knew it had to be in there somewhere.” Claude snuck a glance at her as she took another drink. She was almost a whole new woman from the one Claude had encountered that morning. Not only was she free of any trace of blood, sweat, or mud—and smelled like wildflowers, Claude noted—but the simple slacks and the crisp lavender-colored shirt tucked into them were also spotless. Claude thought she must have been gifted the clothes, as they looked brand new. “Answer something for me,” Byleth said. “Why did you do this?” She gestured out to the people singing and dancing in celebration.

“I just told you—“

“That’s your scheming face,” Byleth said. She forced a half smile. “Five years hasn’t changed you too much.”

Claude smirked. “I’m trying to win their loyalty,” he said.

“Their loyalty?” Byleth repeated. “Why? They aren’t your people. Technically, this village is in neutral territory. What good would winning the loyalty of a couple hundred townspeople outside of the Alliance do for a duke?”

“Well, for one, they won’t squeal when we restart rebuilding the monastery.” Byleth’s eyes widened. “And two, they might actually help us with the rebuilding. After all, this place was relatively peaceful when hundreds of knights resided just a mile up the road. Perhaps they’ll even be grateful to see more soldiers again.” Claude took another drink, pretending not to notice how Byleth stared at him.

“I thought the Alliance was staying out of the war,” she said carefully. Claude watched the villagers dance in circles with smiles on their otherwise-weary faces.

“Will you dance with me?” Claude asked. He stood up and extended his hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to a good rustic shindig like this one.”

Byleth frowned and shrunk back from his hand. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Not at all,” Claude assured her, unmoving. He gave her a sly grin, and she finally took his hand. He led her to the middle of the circle, where it would be hardest for anyone to overhear them due to the sheer volume of the other people. When he pulled her body tightly against his, he told himself it was only so he would be easier to hear, not because he enjoyed the scent of whatever soap she had used. “Edelgard has been chipping away at our defenses for years now,” he whispered harshly, dancing in a slow circle. “She threatened me the last time I saw her, told me she would bring hell down on my people if I tried to fight back.” He had to keep from curling his fingers into a fist around Byleth’s hand. “And I never risked challenging her on that threat, because I didn’t have you.” Byleth sucked in a sharp breath by his ear.

“What do I have to do with any of it?”

_Everything_, Claude thought immediately. But he had to be careful about how he approached her. “You brought up this morning how we were supposed to have a talk after the last battle we were in,” he started. “I think it’s time we had that talk now.”

Byleth shot him a look. “With so many people around?”

“They won’t be able to hear me anyway,” he told her. That, and he was certain he would slip and say something he did not mean to if he was with Byleth alone. “Sothis came to me in a vision just before her soul merged with yours,” he whispered in Byleth’s ear. “She told me that she believed you and I would bring forth Fódlan’s End. I’ve had a _long_ time to think about what that means, and given the state of the continent at large, I believe her prediction meant that you and I together would be able to end this war.”

Byleth stiffened against him. “What makes you so sure who you saw was Sothis?”

“Short, green hair, blue dress, looked like a child, incredibly blunt to the point of making you a little uncomfortable?”

“Okay, you met Sothis.”

Claude chuckled.

“But why would you wait for my return? If Edelgard’s armies have been stepping into your boundaries, isn’t _she_ committing an act of war?” Byleth asked. She pulled away slightly. “Since when have you been the kind of man to cower?”

Claude resisted the urge to flinch at the insult, doubting she meant it that way. He looked down at the set of flashing green eyes that waited anxiously for his reply, and he remembered what he had forgotten to tell her that morning. There was indeed one more thing Byleth needed to know. “Because Edelgard is like me,” he whispered. “She can remember when you turn back time.”

Gasping, Byleth clung to Claude more tightly than before. He could feel her tremble against him. “How certain are you of that?”

“Very. She confirmed that the mask used by my killer was hers,” Claude explained. “She was the one who came for me the first night I was attacked, the one I pushed out the window before I came to your room, before you rewound time.” Byleth hissed at the memory. “How could she have known about that if she wasn’t telling the truth?” The music changed, but the pair kept dancing, swaying in slow circles together. “There’s one more thing. . . She also thinks _I_ am the one who can turn back time, not you.” Byleth said nothing. “I thought you were dead, but something in me said not to let her know it was actually you, so I never corrected her. . . Turns out my instincts were right.”

“Doesn’t that just put a target on your head if we start fighting?”

Claude shrugged. “Better me than you. You’re the one who can actually save people. I’m more than willing to sacrifice myself to keep our friends alive.”

As if on cue, Ignatz and Lysithea danced right past them, laughing lightheartedly in each other’s arms. “I see your point,” Byleth replied, watching them longingly. “But that’s still asking a lot out of you.”

“More than I’m asking of you by requesting you join my side in a five-year-long war?”

“We still don’t even know if I can turn back time again.” Byleth tensed up.

“You also didn’t know you could save yourself from falling off a cliff by sleeping for five years until today,” Claude pointed out. Byleth laughed darkly in reply. “There will be more than enough time to figure that out later. We aren’t going to battle tomorrow.” Claude pulled her closer again, though this time he admitted to himself that it was for selfish reasons. He just wanted to hold her. “Even if you couldn’t turn back time, you’re still one of the strongest and most experienced warriors I know. . . And there is one more advantage to having you on my side, as well.”

“The pleasure of my company?”

Claude laughed, recalling how he had once made the same joke to Soleth. “No. Well, yes, but. . . That wasn’t what I was referring to.” Claude felt himself blush. “You said that Rhea appointed you her successor, right?” Byleth nodded. “Ironically, I’ve sort of been building you up as the second coming of Sothis over the last five years,” he confessed. “I didn’t even know about the decision Rhea had made, but between the two things, I’m pretty sure you’re the most influential religious figure in the Alliance.”

“Oh, am I?” Byleth asked absently.

“I know you aren’t deeply involved with the church,” Claude began quickly, hoping to cut off any potential argument. “But consider this for a moment. If you, as the current archbishop, sided with the Leicester Alliance, then rallying allies to our side would become a moral decision rather than just a political one. Finding Rhea and defeating Edelgard are tied together. I’m not saying you remain in her position, but who out there would be better to bring the Holy Knights out of hiding than Rhea’s successor? Even Seteth couldn’t gain support of that level!”

“Seteth also has the personality of a brick wall.”

Claude snickered.

“Sorry. That was mean,” Byleth whispered.

“Goddess, I’ve missed you,” Claude whispered. His cheeks heated again as he realized the words that had just come out of his mouth. Byleth chuckled, her breath hot on his ear.

“Last I checked, it would have been ‘gods,’ I’ve missed you.” She pulled back and raised an eyebrow, the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Claude tried to smile casually. “It’s hard to convince people that you want them to follow a goddess when you keep speaking of gods instead.” He shrugged. “I changed a habit out of strategy. Nothing more.”

“Hmm,” Byleth replied. The song slowed to a stop, and the dancers began cheering. Byleth looked towards Claude, and hesitated. “So, when all is said and done, you want to use me to defeat Edelgard?” she asked. “No bullshit. I’m not saying I won’t do it, but I think the least I can ask for is some honesty.”

Claude nodded tersely. He did not like the choice in words, but he could not deny that there was some truth in it. “I want to use you to win this war,” he whispered.

Byleth nodded. She pressed her hand against one side of his face then kissed his other cheek. “Thank you for coming back for me, Claude,” she said. “I’m going to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not!” Lorenz fumed. Claude kicked a piece of rubble in front of his boot. The old Golden Deer class stood in a circle just outside of the monastery, most of them still trying to process Claude’s proposition. “No offense, Professor. I don’t doubt your value in this war. Dare I say, I even see Claude’s point. But the Alliance as a whole has remained out of Edelgard’s scope so far. Imagine how quickly that will turn if we wage war on her!”

“Afraid Daddy will put you in time out?” Hilda muttered under her breath.

Lorenz glared at her then turned back to Claude. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to remain neutral in the war?”

“Technically, I suggested we remain neutral because Teach was missing,” Claude replied casually. He twirled an arrow in his hands, acting as if he had all the time in the world to argue. “Yet it appears to me that our very own goddess-merged professor just reappeared to us. Would you not say that was a sign from the goddess that it is time to go to war? Besides, I’m not asking all of the Alliance to join. I just think Edelgard should get a taste of her own medicine. We can cause some trouble, encroach little by little onto Adrestian territory, deny allegiance with anyone so it gets left up to interpretation.” He chuckled. “Could be fun.”

“Even if you did declare war, it’s not like we have any soldiers with us at present. I didn’t realize by coming here for our reunion that we had volunteered to be a nine-person strike squad,” Lorenz said sarcastically.

“Oh?” Claude asked. He could not hold back his grin any longer. “Did I forget to mention? We are going to try to convince the Knights of Seiros to join us. A little bird told me this morning that Seteth and Flayn are going to be here later today.”

His peers’ jaws went slack, and Byleth suppressed a chuckle, crossing her arms. “I couldn’t very well be the church’s savior without religious support, now could I?”

“You knew about this?!” Leonie demanded. “Professor. I mean Byleth—you know what? Too weird. I’m sticking with Professor.” She shook her head. “But you can’t tell me you’re going along with this.”

Byleth looked up at Claude, and he felt his heart jump into his throat. Turning back to the rest of the group, she said, “Edelgard’s betrayal is still very fresh for me, and I want to keep this war from stringing along any more than necessary. We end it, and we end it quickly.”

Leonie sighed. “Fine. Then I’m in, too.”

“What?!” Lysithea shrieked.

“My village isn’t too far from the border!” Leonie hissed. The attacks have been slowly creeping closer and it’s only a manner of time before my friends and family are dealing with the same kind of people that we took out yesterday.” She looked at Claude determinedly. “And I trust our house leader. If he thinks we can win this war, then I’ll fight in it gladly.”

Claude smiled at her. “Thank you, my friend. And the rest of you?”

“I’m in,” Ignatz said.

“Me too,” Raphael added. He smiled gruffly. “Someone has to ensure Maya’s future.”

“You know I’m in,” Hilda said. “Someone has to babysit Mister Leader Man, otherwise he won’t remember to sleep, or eat. Or take his play breaks.”

“Your sarcasm has been noted,” Claude chuckled.

“I would love to join, as well. If I can be useful,” Marianne said. Claude realized he had not heard her speak since arriving the day before. He smiled at her warmly.

“You are always of use, my dear.” Claude turned to Lysithea. “What do you say?”

Lysithea sighed, looking down at the ground. “I don’t want to fight Edelgard,” she murmured. “But more than that, I want this all to end. I’m with you.”

Claude nodded, then turned to Lorenz, who crossed his arms and looked down at the ground. “What about you, Lorenz?” Hilda prodded, sounding annoyed. “Are you going to go back home to your scary father or what?”

“I’ll stay,” he muttered. “At the very least it may give my father pause before reporting to the Empire that the Holy Knights have returned here.”

“Any help is a big help,” Claude said to him. As tempted as he was to give a sarcastic comment about his sour mood, Claude forced himself to remember the dinner he and Lorenz had shared in Derdriu together. Lorenz wanted the war to end just like the rest of them. It was okay for him to not be enthusiastic about fighting in it. Claude forced himself to put on a smile. “That settles it, then! We are all in agreement! I will send word to my retainer in Derdriu letting him know that I won’t be coming home for a while.” He clapped his hands together. “In the meantime, let’s look into permanent places to stay. I’m sure that some of the dorms must still be in decent condition. If not, we can move into the old soldier’s quarters.” A thought occurred to him. “Do any of you need to go home for a couple of days? I don’t want to be insensitive and keep you trapped here.”

“We can all write home and have belongings sent to us if necessary,” Leonie replied, cutting off whatever Lorenz was about to say. “But I don’t think any of us need much beside a set of armor and a good weapon in hand.” She smirked.

“Fair enough,” Claude said. “Once we get rooms sorted out, let’s spend the rest of the day cleaning up some of the monastery.” He looked out toward the damage. “We can’t clean up everything on our own, obviously, but if we can try to make a clear way to rooms and the kitchens and mess hall, I think that will be a start. We can get into the nitty gritty of war once Seteth and the knights get here.”

“I have a question,” Ignatz piped up, stopping everyone from walking away completely.

“What is it, Ignatz?” Claude asked.

Ignatz seemed to fumble for his words. “Well, maybe it’s more of a statement. . . But even with Flayn coming. . . We are missing three people,” he finally said.

The five words hung in the air.

“I wrote to each of them,” Claude replied carefully. “If they show up, great. If not, we have to give them our understanding as to why.”

Claude took the steps up to his old dorm two at a time. He had not had the opportunity to look in his room the day before, as he doubted Byleth would be up there. The door was ajar, and it was clear someone had rummaged through Claude’s old things looking for valuables. No doubt most of the rooms would look that way. At least the bandits were gone now. They would rob no more.

“This place is a mess,” Byleth said, peering in over his shoulder. Claude jumped, not realizing she had followed him. “More so than usual.”

Claude chuckled slightly. He walked over to his small apothecary and examined the jars of herbs. Unsurprisingly, many seemed untouched. No doubt the bandits were unaware of what the dried plant leaves were, or how to use them. Claude made a mental note to himself to check the greenhouse and replenish some of his stocks. It would be much easier to do now that he wasn’t a student, though he expected that Seteth would still lecture him if he suspected mischief. “It’s weird, seeing this place destroyed.” Claude set the jar down. “But it still feels like home.”

“I know the feeling,” Byleth said. Claude looked up at her, and she smiled sadly. “This is the only home I have now. Had you not turned up yesterday, I wouldn’t know where to find the mercenaries I used to work with. I don’t even know if they would let me rejoin them.”

“I’m sure they would,” Claude said. “And if not, you always have a home with me.”

Byleth hummed. She pulled at her hair absently, as if in thought.

“Does the length really bug you that much?”

“I don’t think I would care if I could pull it back,” Byleth sighed. “But I don’t have anything to tie my hair with, and asking for a ribbon from the other girls—women—seems trivial at the moment.”

Claude lifted a finger. “I may have. . .” he muttered to himself, pulling open one of the drawers in his dresser. “Aha!” Claude pulled out a simple leather chord and a brush, saved from dust by the tight enclosed place it was stored in. “Turn around,” Claude said, wiggling his finger in a circle. He pulled out his desk chair, and Byleth turned to sit in it, an amused expression on her face.

“Why do you have that laying around?” She wondered as Claude started brushing out her tangles.

“It’s probably Petra’s, she always used to leave her hair ties in here after sleeping—“ He cut himself off, a slight flush on his face. “Will I still get in trouble for admitting we used to sneak into each other’s rooms?” he tried to joke. “I doubt Pet and I were the only ones who did. We were teenagers, after all.” Byleth nodded slightly, but said nothing. Claude wondered if it was weird, to use his ex-girlfriend’s hair tie on her, even if it was five years out of use. “There’s also the possibility that this was Hilda’s.”

“It must be easier now that you’re an adult.”

“What’s easier?” Claude asked, clearing his throat. He absently split her hair into three sections on one side, creating a small braid before pulling the rest upward.

“Dating? Seeing women?” Byleth explained. She tugged at the braid Claude had created. “You’re doing my hair like yours?” she asked before Claude could answer her first question.

Claude’s fingers froze, halfway through tying the leather chord around the bulk of her hair. “Sorry,” he said. “Old habit. I used to help do my sister’s braids when she needed her whole head done for a banquet or festival. You’re always supposed to leave one down.”

“You used to have one strand braided down, too,” Byleth observed. Claude finished tying off her hair, and she turned to face him. “Is that something everyone does where you’re from?” When Claude hesitated, she rolled her eyes with a grin. “I’m not asking you to tell me where that is, I know better than that.” _You used to know where I was from_. “But it’s a yes or no question.”

“Not everyone,” Claude replied. “You keep a strand of hair braided if you’re sixteen years or older and unmarried.” He forced a grin, once again feeling the ache at the lack of knowledge she once had.

Byleth’s smiled faltered, and she averted Claude’s gaze. “How does your wife feel about you flying all the way out here to meet another woman that you haven’t seen in five years? Does she know you intend to fight a war with me?”

“Oh! No, Teach. I—“ Claude groaned inwardly. Of _course_ she would make that assumption. “I cut off the braid as a bit of a dark joke between me, myself and I. I-I’m married to my work,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “There hasn’t been much time for me to think about finding a wife in the middle of a war.” He crossed his arms. “Especially at my age.”

Byleth looked back up to him. “So, there’s no one?” she asked

Claude felt his heart beat faster. “Not in the last five years, no.” _No one but you_.

Byleth’s eyes widened, then she chuckled. “We’ll have to fix that once we win this war. I’m sure Hilda and I can find a woman or two who would think you were a decent catch. It won’t do for you to still be carrying a torch for Petra after all this time.” She winked, and Claude tried to laugh. It was not _Petra_ who had filled his thoughts in all the time apart. And he nearly said as much, when a clamor of excitement rose from his window. Byleth looked out towards it, her smile dropping. “Seteth and Flayn?” she guessed, lifting the braid up and back and pulling the end through the leather chord. Claude’s eyes lingered on the gold bangle on her wrist.

“It must be,” he said.

“Then let’s go meet them,” Byleth said. She rushed back to the stairs with Claude on her heels.

They had arrived much sooner than Claude expected, though Seteth may have been rushing if he was as anxious to see Byleth again as Claude had been. When Claude and Byleth reached the monastery’s entrance, their friends were surrounding the green-haired siblings, chattering excitedly. Flayn had her arms tightly around Marianne’s neck, while Seteth was speaking in low tones with Lorenz.

When Byleth approached, Flayn’s eyes widened. “Professor!” she beamed, running to the other woman’s side and hugging her. “I knew in my heart that we would see you again one day, though I truly wish it could have been sooner. You look so well! Where have you been—Claude!” Then Claude was crushed in the green-haired girl’s embrace. “I was not expecting you to look so different.”

“And I was not expecting you to look so. . . the same,” Claude laughed, looking down at his old friend. Her large, round eyes and coiled green hair made her look the exact same age as she had been five years earlier. Not that Claude knew how old that made her back then. Or in the present, for that matter.

Flayn beamed up at him until Seteth cleared his throat, then she stepped away with a roll of her eyes, turning back to speak with the rest of her friends. “I was surprised to receive your letter,” Seteth said to Claude. “How did you know where to send it?”

“The leader of a nation is allowed to have ears and eyes out in the world,” Claude said slyly. “And unlike your enemies, I knew what to search for. I happen to be an expert in detecting the movements of hidden armies.”

Seteth frowned, about to open his mouth when Byleth stepped between the two men. “Seteth,” she said, taking his hand, “thank you so much for coming.”

Seteth’s expression softened when he looked at her, the smile on his face not too different from the one he often gave Flayn. “The goddess is truly on our side if she brought you back to us. I am relieved to see you alive and well. Where have you been this entire time?”

“Alive, yes,” Byleth said. “But. . .” She looked hesitant. “I’ve been. . . Asleep for the last five years. Were it not for the change in my hair length, I would suppose that I had been frozen in time instead.”

Seteth’s face dropped. “But that’s impos—“ He stopped, sighing. “That’s an incredible tale, though I dare say it won’t be the last one we hear before this war ends.”

“Claude said you have been fighting this entire time.”

Seteth scoffed. “Fighting is a generous word. It is more accurate to say that we have been in hiding, retaliating where we can for the sake of survival.”

“Then perhaps it is time to take a more aggressive approach,” Byleth said. “Push back against the Empire, and hopefully find Rhea in the process.”

Seteth frowned slightly. “There was a small part of me that hoped the two of you were together in hiding somewhere, but if she is not with you. . . That all but confirms that Edelgard has taken her into custody.”

Byleth looked up at Claude. “We had the same suspicion.”

“Seteth,” Claude interjected. “If you and the Knights of Seiros are willing to join us, we would like to make the monastery our home base. It’s strategically sound since it’s in neutral territory, and we know it has the capacity to house the knights once we get it fixed up.”

“If we can get it fixed up. . .” Hilda groaned, stepping in beside Claude. “We’ve been trying to clear away the rubble all morning, but it’s far too much work for the nine of us to handle.”

Seteth looked at her in shock. “You were really intending on clearing this all up on your own?”

“Well, sure!” Hilda said sweetly. “It’s the least we can do as former students.”

“Hilda, that’s very kind of you to say,” Seteth said. “I’m sure we can get some of the knights to help. They aren’t hiding too far away from here, and now that we’ve confirmed. . .” Claude resisted the urge to snicker as Seteth continued muttering to himself. He was more than certain Seteth would have been willing to help clean up the monastery if asked politely, but leave it to Hilda spin a tail that would make Seteth think it was his idea. . .

“I had already intended on having the old Golden Deer students clear out the sleeping and eating areas, since those will be most used,” he added. “If we could get a rotation of soldiers to pitch in, we can get that done in the next few days.”

“And the rest of the monastery?” Seteth inquired.

Claude opened his palms and shrugged. “I’m not an architect, so unless you have one handy, the rest of the buildings will have to wait to be rebuilt until after the war is over. I just want to make sure nobody gets rained on.”

To Claude’s surprise, Seteth nodded rather than argued. “Then I will give the signal for the knights to meet us here,” Seteth said. “In the meantime, I think I would like to look through my old rooms and assess the monastery’s damage. I can start writing to craftsmen I know who live in the area about rebuilding the monastery, as well. I disagree with you on waiting. This place is a symbol to our followers, and it should not be in tatters. We can discuss battle strategies in the following weeks once that is taken care of.”

“Of course,” Byleth said. Seteth smiled at her before marching away with a sense of urgency Claude had not seen in ages.

“He’s here for five minutes and already acting like he’s in charge again,” Claude muttered under his breath. Byleth chuckled.

“Does that surprise you?”

“Hardly,” Claude admitted. He looked down at her as she smiled, shaking her head. It made the braid that she tucked into the leather chord shake softly, coming loose. Instinctively, Claude reached out and tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. Byleth looked at him inquisitively. “I think I am going to go back up to my room to change,” Claude said, clearing his throat. “Then we can start clearing rubble.”

“I’ll get started without you, then,” Byleth said with a half smile. Claude laughed breathily, then ducked away, praying the flush on his face was not obvious. When he got to his old room, he closed the door and leaned against it. His heart would not stop pounding. Gods, he was an idiot. Just reaching out and touching her like it was the most common thing in the world. And the day before, when he had tried touching her hand. . . She was going to start being wary of him if he was not careful. But he couldn’t help it. Having her in front of him, his hand not going through her when he reached out to her. . . Gods, how was he going to handle this? It wasn’t like she had amnesia, in the strictest of meanings. And there was no one who could support his argument that he had still been seeing her for the last five years as she slept.

Maybe Claude _was_ insane. . .

No, he couldn’t be. There were too many things that Soleth knew, that were supported in Byleth’s diary entries and his memories of her that Claude could not simply argue away. He had to have faith that what he experienced with her was real. He had not just imagined it.And maybe someday—if Claude was really, really lucky—she would remember again.

In the meantime, he had to be patient.

And see if he could get her to love him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay......... Time for some not-so-fun news.  
The busy season of my work is starting, and I am having difficulty finding the time to write as much as I used to. To top it off, I have several upcoming events in my personal life such as my sister’s wedding that I need to make a priority.  
I *have* been writing ahead with this in mind, because I want to keep my posting consistent. But.... Chapters might get smaller for a couple of months.  
I’m hoping to rework my schedule so I can keep up my writing but since I can’t guarantee my time will free up until after April 15th.... I want to let you guys know now. I’ll give updates if any changes are made.  
In case chapters do get smaller, I thank you for your understanding <3


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having Byleth back is rockier than Claude wants it to be.

A couple hundred knights entered the gates a few hours after Seteth and Flayn arrived, looking anxious and worse for wear. Among them were a handful of familiar faces, some that Claude feared he would never get the chance to see again. “Shamir?” Claude called, running up to meet her. “I thought you would have fled for Dagda after the monastery fell.”

“Yeah, well, traveling hasn’t exactly been easy since then,” Shamir sighed. She side-eyed Catherine, who was standing beside her. “And we made a promise to stay together until Rhea was found, for better or worse.”

“You make it sound like I’m forcing you to stay,” Catherine laughed.

Byleth passed by as the two women started bickering, and Claude’s eyes followed her over to Alois. “Byleth,” he whispered. “Thank the goddess! I never thought I would see you again!”

“That seems to be a shared sentiment,” Byleth said with a breathy laugh. Alois clasped her in a tight hug, as if she were a long-lost family member.

Claude figured he ought to give them a moment of privacy and turned back to Shamir. “There aren’t as many of you as I expected.”

“It’s dangerous to have us all together,” Shamir explained. “The emperor’s soldiers hunt us like animals.”

Catherine made a face at Shamir’s words, then turned to Claude. “Seteth seems to be under the impression that you want to join our war?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Claude admitted. “Now that Teach is back—“

“Has she been hiding with Rhea?” Catherine cut him off. Her arms were crossed, and she leaned down intently towards Claude’s face.

“No. . .” Claude said. “We haven’t seen any sight of the archbishop.”

Shamir and Catherine shared a look. “I should have bet money on that,” Shamir said.

“This is hardly the time to make a joke.”

“Who ever said I was joking?”

Catherine threw up her hands in defeat, but Shamir ignored her.

“Before I forget, I don’t know if you remember my apprentice Cyril, but he’s been hounding me all morning asking about one of the girls who was in your class. The tiny one with the white hair?”

“Lysithea?”

“Sure. Is she here?”

“Yeah, she’s here.”

“Thank the goddess,” Shamir groaned. “I’m going to go tell the kid before he explodes.” She walked back toward the rest of the group, pulling aside a tall young man with well-tanned skin. No. . . That couldn’t be Cyril. Could it? The last time Claude had seen the boy, he was at least a foot shorter, and his face still held the roundness of youth. The boy standing beside Shamir, however, was. . . Well, a man.

Funny how five years could do that.

After finishing her conversation with Alois, Byleth approached him. “What are you looking at?”

Claude pointed to Shamir and Cyril.

“Is that—“

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s no longer a little kid.”

“I know. And if Shamir’s been training him all this time, he’s probably a fairly capable soldier by now.”

Byleth nodded, but said nothing. Her eyes were still on Cyril and Shamir, but there was a slight frown on her face. Claude wondered what she was thinking, if she was overwhelmed with the differences she was experiencing between the present and her memories of five years ago. When she turned back to Claude, she wore a strained smile. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get these people settled. It’s rude to keep them standing around.”

Claude nodded in agreement, though he wished there was something he could do to remove the strain from her eyes. But Byleth was right. They could not keep all of those people standing around all afternoon. There would be time to cheer her up later.

Claude walked towards Byleth’s room with a hop in his step, and her diaries in his pocket. The sky had grown dark, and the knights who had arrived earlier that day were all beginning to retire for the evening in the rooms that they had helped clear of rubble. The monastery was nowhere near being repaired, but at least Claude could now walk down a mostly-clear path without the fear of tripping over a boulder.

Byleth’s door was ajar, making it easy to see her moving around in her room. “Knock knock,” Claude called, stepping into the threshold. Byleth hardly replied. “Something wrong?”

“I’m trying to take inventory of everything that was stolen,” Byleth muttered. “Luckily I hide most of my valuables under a loose plank beneath the bed out of habit, but some of my stuff still—“ she huffed in frustration. “Some of the items that are missing are irreplaceable.”

Claude suspected, with a hint of self-satisfaction, that he had just what he needed to improve her mood. “Maybe they don’t need to be replaced so much as returned.” Byleth finally looked up at him. For all the moments he had seen her in his dreams, seeing her look up at him in real life made his heart race. He was going to kill himself if he didn’t get ahold of his emotions soon. With a smile, Claude retrieved the two diaries from his back pocket and handed them to her. “Are these what you’re referring to?”

Byleth openly gaped at him.

“When I thought you were dead, the idea of leaving these to rot just—“

“Did you take them just to read them?”

“No!” Claude exclaimed. “I mean, not to say I didn’t read them. They were in my possession for five years, after all. A guy gets curious. But not yours, just your dad’s. Not that I wasn’t—“ he stammered and laughed. “I just wanted to keep what meant most to you safe.”

He extended the diaries to Byleth, and she took them hesitantly, cradling them against her body. Still, the smile on her face when she looked up at him appeared genuine. Claude decided to take the little victories where he could. “I guess I can’t fault you when I’ve offered to let you read my diary before.”

_“You can find pieces of the half of me that you miss in her diary. Yet you do not touch it.”_

_“It seems like an invasion of privacy.”_

_Soleth giggled. “Has that ever stopped you before?” she asked. There was a hint of flirtation in her tone. “Besides, I’m giving you permission to go through it.”_

“Did you?” Claude asked, ignoring the way his heart raced faster. Were there pieces of memories slipping through?

Byleth gave him an inquisitive expression. “After the Battle of Eagle and Lion,” she reminded him. “I didn’t think you would forget a thing like that.”

Claude cursed himself for not thinking of that first. His expression turned more apologetic. “I didn’t forget,” he told her. “It’s just. . . A lot has happened since then.” He tried to smile again. “Not everything that happened five years ago is at the front of my memory the way it once was.”

Byleth clutched the diaries tighter, nodding slowly. “Well, thank you anyway, for returning these to me,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done if these were gone.”

Claude nodded in reply. “I should let you get back to your room cleaning,” he said, turning towards the door. Then, he hesitated. “Though you know, if you needed help reorganizing everything, I’d be happy to help. If anything, I’m good company.”

Byleth frowned up at him. “It’s not really appropriate to be in your professor’s room late at night alone with her, you know,” she said.

Claude laughed nervously. “But. . . You aren’t my professor anymore,” he said carefully. “You haven’t been for five years.”

He had a hard time deciphering the expression on her face. It was like she was trying to wear the emotionless expression that populated most of Claude’s early memories of her, but there was a crack in it. Through the crack was the smallest mix of what Claude could only guess was sadness and impatience. “Your five years,” Byleth replied, her tone matching his. “My two days ago.”

“Oh,” Claude said simply. His disappointment managed to seep through his voice more than he liked. “You’re right,” he added, trying to sound more easy-going. “I know it must be weird for you, how everything has changed, but. . . I’ll try to keep that in mind from now on. I. . . I know you’ll need time to adjust, and I don’t want that to be any more stressful than it has to be.”

“Thank you,” Byleth replied. She shifted from foot to foot. “Then. . . I’ll see you in the morning?”

Claude turned back towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning, Teach.”

Former knights and church members that had lived and worked in the monastery trickled in the front gates of Garreg Mach almost daily as rumor spread of Byleth’s return. Some Claude recognized better than others. The first of whom he found himself truly excited to see was Alastair. “I’ve been on the run for the better part of the last year or so,” he laughed, his tone more akin to that of someone saying they ate too much for dinner. “But if By is alive, then fighting by her side is the only place for me.” Claude tried not to let Alastair’s choice in words bother him.

Still, he had to be grateful. More people meant more hands to work. And there was much work to be done.

Manuela arrived a couple days later, dragging Hanneman behind her. “Look how much you have all grown!” she beamed, taking Marianne’s face in her hands. “I feel like a proud mother looking at her children.”

“Except I’m sure everyone here is grateful that you aren’t their mother. . .” Hanneman muttered under his breath. Manuela shot him a glare.

“We are happy to see you both,” Claude interjected. “There is little being done in the war department, and of course, we have no students for you to teach, but any extra pair of hands is welcomed.”

Manuela smiled languidly at him. “I see time has matured your language as well as your looks,” she said.

“O-kay,” Hanneman grunted. “I’m going to look into my old study. Hopefully most of the books there are not damaged. . .”

While Manuela continued to speak with the other students, Claude followed Hanneman up to his office. “I don’t mean to be pushy right when you just got here,” Claude started. “But I’ve actually been having a bit of a dilemma that I think you can help me with.”

Hanneman’s eyes gleamed. “What would that be?”

“I know you study crests,” Claude began. “And I was wondering if you happened to know anything about their history?”

Hanneman furrowed his brow questioningly.

“I’m thinking of creating a new banner for our army,” Claude explained. “I haven’t told Seteth yet, or Teach, for that matter.” Claude absently wondered if he should start calling her ‘Byleth’ instead. “But we can’t use the Alliance banner, not with how split the loyalties of the nobility have been. So we need another image for people to rally behind. As Rhea’s appointed successor and wielder of the Sword of the Creator, I think Byleth should be the symbol of our movement against the Empire. Namely, her crest.”

“I think that all sounds well and fine,” Hanneman began. “Though, I wonder why you find it necessary to discuss this with me?”

“Would there be anything in Fódlan’s history that would give marching under the Crest of Flames a negative association?” Claude asked. “Or any reason that the church or its followers would consider it to be immoral, or disloyal to the faith?”

Hanneman sat on the edge of his desk, stroking his mustache as he contemplated the question. “Not that I can recall,” he answered. “Nemesis fell to madness in the end of his life, but generally those devout to the church remember him as the one gifted with the Sword of the Creator by the goddess herself. A chosen one, of sorts.” He raised his eyebrow. “And if what I have been hearing about you is true, that is the same image you wish for Miss Eisner to have, yes? That of a hero chosen by the goddess to save us all?”

Claude nodded. “That’s exactly right.” He was looking at Hanneman’s crest detector, wondering why it had not been lifted away by bandits. Though to be fair, it was hardly likely anyone would even know what the strange contraption was. Had Claude not been tested on a similar device himself seven years earlier, he probably would not have known, either. He brushed his fingers against it, and a crest projected in the air in front of him. “Is this her crest?” he asked. It was certainly one Claude had never seen before.

“Yes, it is,” Hanneman said with a chuckle. “I didn’t realize that would stay up all this time, but seeing as I haven’t tested anyone since our young professor, I suppose there’s no reason it would have gone away.”

“Hmm,” Claude said, not taking his eyes off of the wavering symbol. “It’s beautiful. And terrifying, and I can’t explain why.”

“I agree,” Hanneman said. “You know, I’ve never seen this crest on a person before Miss Eisner walked in through the front gate. I’ve searched high and low for any sort of reference, and there is literally no one in history aside from her and Nemesis who has borne it.” Hanneman chuckled. “That ought to put a chill to your bones.”

“It certainly does just that. . .” Claude murmured. The image of Byleth’s crest winked then faded completely. “Do you have a blank piece of paper anywhere that I can use?”

“Let me see,” Hanneman muttered, searching on and around his desk. He knelt onto the floor and picked up a faded piece of parchment, smudged with dirt on one corner. “Will this do?”

“It’s fine for what I need.” Hanneman handed Claude the paper and a quill, and Claude nudged the crest-reading device to display Byleth’s crest again. Claude carefully drew the emblem, making sure the image was as exact as he could muster. When he was done, he handed the quill back to Hanneman. “Thank you,” he said. “This will help me greatly.”

“Can I ask you a question, before you hurry off?” Hanneman asked. Claude halted, one foot poised toward the door.

“Of course,” he said.

Hanneman frowned at the ground. “I noticed that many of the old Golden Deer students have returned to Garreg Mach. I was wondering. . . If there have been any students from the other houses who have arrived? After all, the Alliance is not the only nation loyal to the church of Seiros. Have there been any from the Blue Lions? Annette, perhaps? Or Ashe, or Ingrid?”

Claude frowned. “None,” he whispered, the singular word tinted with his own regret at having to say it. “I’m sorry.”

Hanneman smiled sadly. “Ah, well,” he sighed. “No matter. It just would have been nice to see how they all fared. I pray that they are well, wherever they are.”

Claude’s stomach clenched. “I pray the same,” he said. Then, turning to the door, he waved the paper in his hands upward. “Thanks again.”

“Any time,” Hanneman said absently. Claude wondered if his head was already elsewhere. He pushed himself forward, down the stairs and out into the bitter cold. Gods, why had he not grabbed an extra coat before he left? He steered himself toward one of the larger piles of rubble, where he had last seen Leonie helping with the clean up.

“Leonie!” he called to her. She straightened up, smiling at the sight of him.

“If it isn’t our fearless leader,” she huffed. “What’s up?”

Claude held the piece of paper out to her. “I need a favor. You know how to sew, right?”

Claude wiped the sweat from his brow, despite the cold wind that gently blew through the open hallway. Picking up rocks was hard work, much harder than Claude had anticipated. He glanced over at Raphael disdainfully, jealous of the man’s ability to lift the bigger stones with ease. Straightening his back, Claude pulled off his coat so he only wore the thin, loose-fitting shirt underneath, then continued loading stones onto the wheel barrow in front of him. Byleth shot him a look, and he resisted the urge to feel self-conscious. He was having a hard time gauging how Byleth felt about him. In most ways, she was friendly, and she always seemed to be in the same vicinity as him. Yet, something about the way she looked at Claude made him feel like he was constantly being scrutinized. Still, he was getting warm, and he would ultimately thank himself for removing the excess fabric while he worked.

“See something you like, Teach?” he teased, and Byleth jumped.

“I’m afraid of you catching a cold,” she admitted.

“I’m _sweating_. I won’t catch a cold.”

“Okay,” Byleth sang, separating the larger rocks from the rubble. She hefted a corner stone up and carried it to the wagon. “We should have this area cleared in the next hour or so.”

“I think you’re right,” Claude agreed. Perhaps fixing up the monastery would not take as long as he originally anticipated, though he still felt as though rebuilding should wait until the end of the war. He picked up the wheelbarrow and turned the handles to face the front of the monastery. Seteth had insisted on keeping the larger stones to rebuild with later, to “keep the integrity of the original structure,” as he put it. There was no room for them in Garreg Mach’s walls, however, so they had to be carried out of the walls until they could be used for building again.

As they reached the front gate, a small group of people entered with hoods over their faces. Claude frowned, squinting up at them. It was hard to keep an eye on everyone who came and went, but Claude was sure that these were not knights of Seiros. Who were they, then? Imperial spies? When Claude spotted a tuft of blue hair, he suspected he at least knew who one of the men was.

“What’s wrong?” Byleth asked when Claude lowered the handles of the wheel barrow in the middle of the path.

“Nothing, yet,” Claude murmured, and he stalked towards the group. “Gentlemen,” he greeted them warmly. “I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside the gates until I speak with your leader here,” he said, keeping his eye on the blue-haired man at the front of the group.

Caspar pulled the hood off of his head. He raised his hand, and the men behind him halted. “Do as he says,” he commanded. The men looked back and forth between him and Claude before turning back the way the came from.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t recognize you with a hood on?” Claude asked.

Caspar smirked. “I wasn’t trying to sneak in,” he said. “Just avoiding getting attacked before reaching the gate. I didn’t know how hostile the situation was here.”

“That’s fair,” Claude chuckled. Caspar looked beyond him at Byleth.

“So the rumors were true,” Caspar gasped. “You did return.”

“Sorry to be away for so long,” Byleth told him. Caspar gave her a quick hug when she stepped forward, then turned back to Claude.

“Five years have passed, the professor has returned.” He gestured all around them “Now the Holy Knights are back and rebuilding the monastery? Why was I not informed of all this?” He had a smile on his face, but his tone was accusing.

“It’s nothing personal,” Claude assured him, though he wondered why Caspar bothered showing up two weeks late to the reunion if he didn’t know about their growing army. “But the Leicester Alliance isn’t joining us as a whole in this war, so we have to be careful in what we announce to avoid instigating a fight with Imperial loyalists.” He crossed his arms and lowered his voice. “If you want to stay for the night, we can pretend we never saw you here after you leave to go back home. As long as you don’t stir up trouble, you are always a friend here.”

Caspar narrowed his eyes. “That’s right, you don’t know,” he whispered. When Claude straightened in response, Caspar sighed. “I defected from the Empire. My father watched me like a hawk the second I got home, and it took only a week of his propaganda-filled insanity before I ran away.”

Claude made a face at him. “Then where have you been this entire time?”

Caspar shrugged and looked around. “Wandering here and there around Faergus and the Leicester Alliance, picking up jobs when they came. That’s how I met the guys out there.” Caspar smiled smugly. “We sort of have our own little mercenary group forming. Then we noticed a bunch of soldiers all headed this way—“

“No, no,” Claude cut him off. “You’re missing my point. If you left the Empire, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to put you out! I’m a grown man. I can take care of my—“

“Caspar!” Claude growled. “I sent a letter to you reminding you of the reunion.” Caspar looked confused, and Claude sighed impatiently. “A letter that is now in the hands of your father,” he spelled out for him.

Caspar went pale. Byleth, beside him, crossed her arms, eyes darting back and forth between the two men. “I. . . Shit.”

Claude started pacing.

“What does that mean, then?”

“With any luck? Nothing,” Claude sighed. “I was careful, all I wrote was ‘remember the promise our friends made five years ago.’ I didn’t even sign my name.” He twisted the ring on his pinky finger. “But we weren’t the only ones who knew about the reunion.”

Caspar cursed under his breath. “If my dad gave the letter to Edie. . .”

“Petra might have told her about us meeting here on the millennium festival.”

Beside him, Byleth uttered something under her breath. The three of them stood silently in a circle as they all processed what that could mean. “What do we do, then?”

“For now, get your men and bring them inside. I’m betting you’re all tired and hungry. We’ll start putting out a patrol to look for Imperial soldiers. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, but. . .” Claude laughed humorlessly. “We’ve fought here before, right?”

“Right. . .” Caspar said. He took a hesitant step. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“We’ll handle whatever comes,” Claude said tersely. With a nod of his head, Caspar left back out the gate where his men were waiting. “We should go tell Seteth about this. We need to postpone rebuilding the monastery and focus on our defenses. No doubt he’ll want to give Caspar an earful, as well.” He marched towards the second-story stairs. The sound of Byleth’s footsteps let him know that she was on his heels. “Maybe this won’t be such a bad thing,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “We can always send him back into the Empire as a spy, if it comes to that.”

“Hmm,” Byleth replied. The curtness of her tone worried him.

“Is something the matter, Teach?” Claude asked.

They stopped in the empty corridor. Byleth crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the ground. “Did I tell you that I’ve been keeping a mental list of all the differences I’ve noticed in you guys over the last two weeks?” she began. “Leonie grew out her hair, Ignatz has gotten taller. . .”

Claude remained silent, though he feared where she was going with her statement.

“Though you try to act like you’re still more or less the same person that you once were, I can see the difference in you, Claude. I guess that’s the advantage to my _situation_.” She huffed to herself. “But you’ve become too emotionally distant. I’m concerned that you’ve separated yourself from people for too long.”

“It’s not like I’ve been a hermit in the mountains,” Claude said with a nervous laugh. “I’ve been living just on the edge of the capital city. It hardly gets more crowded than that.”

Byleth looked up at him. “Seeing people and interacting with people are not the same,” she said. “You don’t interact with your friends the way you once did. You speak with them when you need something, but you never just sit down and talk with them. You didn’t even welcome Caspar properly just now, you just scolded him, then dismissed him.” Her eyes were cold. “The Claude I used to know wouldn’t behave like that.”

“The Claude you used to know had a lot less responsibility,” Claude replied. His voice had a desperate edge to it. He hated that, but he wanted her to understand where he was coming from. “Teach, you gotta level with me a little here. I inherited a nation before I turned nineteen. A girl who I went to school with—who I used to be friends with—forced my hand so I would be neutral in a war she started, then paid back my compliance by moving in on my territory. Every move I have made, every word I have spoken has been analyzed by greedy nobles who care more about trying to find a weakness in me to exploit, so they can gain more power over the nation at the cost of the people beneath them. People who would have starved to death or been slaughtered by now if I had not sacrificed nearly every second of my day to seek out a compromise to placate the greedy monsters.” Byleth’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have the time to just sit with my friends anymore like I used to. And I wish I did. But if I someone dies while I’m lounging an afternoon away, then how am I not to blame?”

“You’re not a god,” Byleth reminded him. “Nobody expects you to be. You shouldn’t hold yourself to that expectation.”

“Says the perfectionist who can turn back time,” Claude slipped. His eyes widened.

Byleth, in reply, chuckled darkly. “That’s why you want to use me, right?” she asked. “You can’t be a god, but at least you can ally yourself with the woman who you led people to believe is one?”

Her words cut at him like a dagger to the heart. He looked down at her pleadingly. “That’s not what I said,” he whispered. He took a step toward her, and she shifted away from him.

“It may not be what you said, but there is probably a part of you that thinks that way.” Claude gazed helplessly into her bright green eyes. “That is the kind of man that you seem to have become.”

The heart in Claude’s chest ached. “Teach, I—“

“I think I’ll go tell Seteth about Caspar’s return alone. Save you from one more task in your busy day.”

Byleth fled up the stairs, leaving Claude alone in the dark corridor. He debated on following her, but his breathing had shallowed and that damned tremor began in his hand again. So instead, he leaned against the wall, taking a handful of collected breaths to steady himself once more.

“You always did know how to please women.”

Claude’s hand moved to the dagger at his side. He was alone, as far as he could see. So where was the voice coming from?

“Not that I care how badly you screw up with her, really,” the voice continued. Claude swore he could recognize it, though the person speaking was clearly trying to disguise their tone. “That just leaves more options open for me.” Sylvain stepped out from behind a shadow, a smirk on his face.

“Goddess,” Claude breathed. “You can scare a guy like that, you know.” Sylvain laughed, but Claude was still frowning, hardly in the mood to be teased. “I didn’t think you were going to show up. Everyone’s going to want to see—”

Sylvain grabbed his arm, a look of urgency on his face. “No. I’m technically not here. Not officially, anyway.” He smiled slightly. “Ingrid and Felix were against me even coming in the first place. If Edelgard caught word that any of us were out of hiding. . .” He sighed. “But I felt bad about not replying to you. And I had to know if she. . . That really was Professor Byleth just now wasn’t it? I wish I could’ve gotten a better look at her.”

“Yeah, that was her,” Claude replied. “Though your timing for seeing her could have been a little better.”

“Ah, you two will make up. You did before, right?” Sylvain winked, a devilish grin on his face.

Claude ignored the bait. Sylvain had a particularly. . . unique sense of humor that had sadly not watered down over the years. “So you’re staying with the rebellion, then?”

“For now,” Sylvain said. “I’ll try to talk with the others about combining forces against good ol’ Edie, but you know in the end it’s not up to us.”

Claude’s mood darkened. He was tempted to push him further, to ask for the rebellion’s aid now that there was a risk of Edelgard knowing about their reunion. But the rebellion was already busy babysitting an unhinged royal. “How is he?”

“Aside from still being a one-eyed mass of rage? I’d like to say he’s doing better, but. . . You and I both know I would be lying.”

Claude nodded. “So I can’t convince you to stay?”

Sylvain shook his head. “I fulfilled my promise, I saw the back of the professor’s head, now I have to head back to Faergus.”

“Say hello to the others for me, then. And if you ever need anything—“

“I know how to contact you,” Sylvain finished. He smiled sadly before walking back into the heavily-shadowed corridor he came from.

Claude sighed. He had been hoping to have Sylvain’s support in the upcoming months, not just as a warrior, but as a friend. The idea of him only showing up for a manner of minutes, not even staying to give Claude more details on what was happening in Faergus. . . But, they were in the middle of a war. Everyone had choices to make, including him.

Claude needed to think.

He walked to his room to grab a clean change of clothes and a towel before heading to the sauna. By some miracle, it had been one of the least-damaged buildings from Edelgard’s attack, and was therefore repaired in only a manner of days. It would be a good place to relax, and to find silence.

Claude headed for one of the sauna rooms towards the back, where he was least likely to be disturbed. After the steam began to fill the room, he stripped down to his underclothes and sat against the door, closing his eyes with a long exhale.

He thought of Caspar first. In truth, he _did_ feel guilty that his welcome had not been warmer. He was grateful to have him back, especially with Sylvain deciding to stay with his allies in Faergus, and Linhardt—well, who knew where Linhardt was? He could be anywhere. Claude had assumed Caspar was in the Adrestia all that time, after all, and he had clearly been wrong about that.

Claude groaned in frustration. Gods, why didn’t Caspar ever just reach out to him? Especially if he was in the Leicester Alliance! They wouldn’t have to deal with the risk of another invasion if the guy had just sent _one fucking letter_. In all of five years, was Caspar really that space-headed?

_Yes_, Claude thought with a hint of annoyance. He sighed to himself. Perhaps Byleth was right about him being too—

_Byleth_.

What was Claude going to do about her?

He had known as soon as she said that she remembered nothing after falling off the cliff, that he would have to rebuild his relationship with her, in a manner of speaking. Even if she had liked the boy he was five years ago, it was more complicated than that. She was still stuck in a time where she was his professor, their fight was only a few months old, they were barely making up with each other again, and him and Petra had only broken up a handful of weeks earlier. And even if that all wasn’t an issue, if Byleth could find some way to move beyond all of those things, she had been right: Claude was not that same boy that Byleth loved. He hadn’t been that boy for a long time. There was always the chance that she would not like the man he had become.

And so far, that seemed to be the case.

His chest ached again, thinking of how she said that he was becoming a man who only used people for his own gain. After all of the sacrifices he had made, after all the conversations he had had with the image of her in the darkness of his dreams. After how long he had waited to just be face to face with her again. . . Her words hurt, plain and simple.

Sweat dripped down Claude’s body as the heat in the room rose. The strand of hair in the front of his head that never wanted to stay in place fell forward, and Claude stubbornly pushed it back. It fell forward again. Claude let it remain. He had other things to focus on.

Half of Claude wanted to hold onto the hope that his relationship with Byleth was still salvageable, that he could still smooth out the bumps made by the five-year gap in their relationship and keep moving forward. Byleth said that she would stay by Claude’s side throughout the war, after all. But was it fair to hold her to that, all for the hope that Sothis’s prediction would come true? Because even if she did know about the prediction, she still did not know the rest of it. She did not know that Claude was in love with her, that he had grown to rely on her presence during dark times, that he wanted her to be by his side as more than just an ally. He wanted her as a lover. As a friend. Gods, he would take anything he could get from her at that point.

But it wasn’t like he could just _tell her_ that. If he told her about Soleth. . . What possible outcome could he hope for? Given their earlier conversation, she would probably accuse him of trying to manipulate her—and Claude did not think he could emotionally handle the punch to the gut that would be. Even if she did react how Claude wanted, however, there would always be a part of him that would wonder if she only expressed a romantic interest in him out of some level of obligation. Or pity.

Neither option was particularly pleasing, as both held a resemblance to locking Byleth in an emotional cage. 

And that was the last thing that he wanted.

Claude softly rapped his knuckles against Byleth’s door, resisting the urge to shiver now that he was no longer in the steam-filled room. Byleth opened the door and let him without a word. “Can we talk about this afternoon?” Claude asked calmly.

They took up their usual positions, with Byleth on the bed and Claude on the desk chair. _As if no time has passed_.

“Claude, about what I said,” Byleth began. “I’m _so_ sorry—“

Claude held up a hand for Byleth to stop. “May I speak first?”

Byleth’s eyes were wide—skeptical—but she nodded.

“I’m the one who needs to be apologizing, Teach. I’ve been thinking about what you said. It made me realize that. . . I’ve been so wrapped up in how I felt about your return, and what I wanted, that I forgot to consider that you might not share in my vision. And that’s not fair to you.” Byleth leaned forward. Finding it hard to hold her gaze, Claude opted to look at his hands instead. “I have had five years to process everything. Our relationship, your gift, this war. . . But you haven’t had any of that time. Hell, you haven’t lived _at all_ in the last five years, and you were more or less bound to the church for a year before that. . .” Claude shook his head. “You deserve to live your life in the way that you want to. One away from the expectations of others. . . So despite what Sothis said to me before the war started. . . I want to make it clear that I do not intend on forcing you to stay here, Teach. Sothis did not tell you what she told me. You have no reason to join this war with me. If you want to leave, go into hiding, start your life over, whatever. . . I’ll help you do it. No questions asked. I’ll sneak you out of the monastery, give you enough money to live off of until you can find work again, send you so far east that no one finds you. . . And you can be free.”

Byleth furrowed her brow, contemplating his words. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want me here anymore?”

“No, of course not,” Claude said. “I want you here more than anything. But not if this isn’t where _you_ want to be. I don’t want you to feel obligated to fight with me if you don’t believe in my dream.”

“And what if I don’t feel obligated? Do you think I don’t want to fight with you of my own free will?” Byleth’s voice was growing annoyed.

“I’m just asking you to consider the fact that you may change your mind. You agreed to fight with me for the sake of the boy you once knew. Will you still want to stand beside me when you see the other ways in which he has hardened or changed, and you despise who I have become?” Claude’s voice hitched at the word “despise,” and his fear of losing her again was beginning to betray him. He wanted to be calm about this. He wanted to be reasonable. . .

Byleth’s brow furrowed. “I’m not going to despise you,” she whispered. “I’m just worried about you.”

“But you could,” Claude uttered, looking into her eyes. “And that’s why I want you to really consider my offer, before it becomes too late for it to be an option.”

Byleth’s mouth was set in a hard line. “There’s something I’m missing, isn’t there?” she asked. “I can’t pinpoint what it is, but. . . I can’t help feeling like I’m not getting the whole picture.”

Exhaling slowly, Claude said, “I would rather be wrong about Sothis’ prediction, then have you think I don’t value you, or that I only want you around so I can use you.” It was the simplest way he could put it without telling her everything.

Byleth hardly seemed convinced. When she finally nodded in agreement, Claude let out a breath he did not know he was holding. “I’ll give you my answer at the end of the month. Does that seem like enough time to think it over to you?”

Claude nodded, feeling both relieved and pained. “Yes. Thank you,” he said. He rose from the small desk chair. “I’ll see you in the morning, Teach.”

Byleth said nothing as Claude left the room, keeping her eyes fixated on the wall in front of her. Everything in him screamed that he needed to run back into the room, confess how he felt about her and beg her to take him, foolish as he was. But he kept walking. Because more than he wanted her, he wanted what was best for her. She had to know that she had the choice to leave or stay, that he would not keep her at Garreg Mach against her will. Only after she made her choice, would he decide how to proceed with her. But until then, he did not want to do anything to persuade her one way or the other.

It had to be her choice.

Yet his chest ached and his breath hitched with every step he took. He trudged up the old dormitory stairs, utterly exhausted and emotionally drained. When his feet stopped moving, he found that he was not standing in front of his own door. Yet, after a brief pause, he turned the handle.

Byleth was right. Claude had spent too much time away from other people.

“Oh! If it isn’t Mister Leader Man,” Hilda teased. She was sitting in front of a half-broken mirror, brushing out her hair lazily. “I hope you aren’t going to tell me we need to wake up earlier again. I _cannot_ afford to lose anymore beauty sleep.”

“Actually—“ Claude murmured. Hilda set her brush down, turning to face him fully.

“What’s wrong, hon?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Claude murmured. Still, Hilda leapt from her chair, flinging her arms around his neck.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again.

He squeezed his best friend tightly. “Can we just sit and talk? I miss you.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude receives a note from an old acquaintance.

“Claude!” Ignatz shouted, pulling Claude away from his work. Ignatz paused when he reached him, panting with his hands on his knees. “You’re needed at the front gate right away. An Imperial spy was caught trying to enter the monastery.”

Claude set down the defense mechanism he was preparing and followed Ignatz back to the gate. They met the pair of soldiers leading a bound and blind-folded man back towards the church building. “Wait!” Claude called, and they halted.

“Duke Riegan,” one of the soldiers said. “We caught this man snooping around outside our gates. He had a letter on his person, sealed with the Emperor’s insignia.”

“I am not a spy, merely a messenger,” the bound man said in annoyance. “The letter was for the young duke, if it is not too much of a bother for him to—“

“Quiet!” The other soldier shouted, jerking the man forward. He led the spy away while the first soldier handed Claude a sealed envelope. Claude tore at the seal and pulled out the letter inside.

Claude,

I’m so sad that I did not receive an invitation to the reunion.

Perhaps it got lost along the way to me?

Regardless, I am far too busy to visit.

I hope you don’t mind that I sent some soldiers in my stead.

With all my love,

Edie

“Dammit,” Claude growled. He handed the letter to Ignatz. “We have company on their way.”

“I can scout the area,” Ignatz said. “Prepare everyone else for the worst in case you don’t hear from me.” He adjust his glasses and fled for the stables before Claude could protest. Claude gritted his teeth then left in the opposite direction, where he hoped to find Byleth.

Sure enough, she was in the chapel—or what was left of it—with Seteth and Marianne, discussing ways to rebuild the large religious building. When Byleth saw Claude running toward them, her smile faltered. “She’s here?” Byleth guessed, gripping the hilt of the Sword of the Creator.

“She is sending men our way,” Claude told her, “I just received a letter with a threat. Hopefully we have a day before they arrive, but I think it’s best to act like they’ll be here sooner.”

“Will your plan work?” Seteth asked. Claude huffed.

“We’ll have to wait and see I guess. In the meantime, let’s get the soldiers ready. I don’t want to be caught off guard.” Seteth and Byleth charged ahead, but Claude caught Marianne by the arm. Her eyes were darting back and forth, and her breathing was becoming shallow. “Mari?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” she said, eyes off in the distance. “Last time this happened—“

“We weren’t prepared last time,” Claude said soothingly. “But we are now.” He rubbed soothing circles into her wrist. “Besides, I need you at the back, remember? Anyone who can heal is going to need to be on standby in case this plan goes south.” He tried to smile at her. “No front lines for you. Not again. I promise.”

Marianne’s breathing slowed, and she looked up at him. “Why does it feel like you’re always protecting me from a battle?”

Claude kissed her forehead. “Because I’m your leader, remember? My job is to look out for all of you.” Marianne gave him the slightest of smiles, then Claude ran after Seteth and Byleth, praying that his plan would work.

Not two hours later, Ignatz rode his horse into the monastery, his brow set in a determined expression. “They’re right behind me,” he panted to Claude and Byleth. “We maybe have an hour, but I don’t see us having much more time to plan than that.”

“Good thing we started preparing a couple days ago, then,” Byleth said, giving Claude a sidelong look. On either side of her, banner men proudly held the Crest of Flames on tall, gleaming poles. Claude had insisted that they wouldn’t use them if Byleth was uncomfortable with her crest being the symbol of their resistance, but she seemed indifferent on the matter. And gods, did she not look powerful with the fire-like emblem blowing in the wind behind her.

“How many of them are there?” Claude asked, and Ignatz’s eyes filled with concern.

“Two, maybe three thousand,” he said. “Edelgard isn’t throwing her punches.” He stepped off of his horse and wavered slightly.

Byleth looked at Ignatz with concern in her eyes. “You’ve done all you need to for the day. Go ahead and—“

“No, I will fight alongside everyone else,” he told her, straightening his back. “I will get my armor and prepare for the battle ahead.”

He marched off, leaving Claude and Byleth watching him. “Three thousand soldiers,” Claude muttered. “We don’t even have half that.”

“No, but we can still win this,” Byleth said. She looked over at Claude with an emotionless expression. Claude’s heart got stuck in his throat. This was the most words that the two of them had exchanged in days. He hardly trusted himself to speak with her without going back on his offer. But he could not afford to think that way. He had to think of Byleth first, he had to do what was best for her.

“And after we win?” Claude asked. Byleth looked at him intently.

“I haven’t fully decided yet,” she admitted. Her eyes held far too much sadness. “We can talk about it after the battle is over.”

Claude squinted out into the distance, high in the sky on the back of his wyvern. A line of light on the horizon indicated where Edelgard’s army was coming from. They were close. They would be be at the monastery in a manner of minutes. Claude thanked Sothis and any other god out there listening to him that at least they were coming in the opposite direction of the village they had given the gold to. Those villagers had seen enough bloodshed.

Below him, Claude could see clusters of Seiros knights taking position as he had commanded, holding torches in their hands. That made him feel more calm as he readied his bow. They were prepared this time. They were not going to lose again. Not if Claude could help it.

As the Empire’s soldiers drew closer, Claude flew lower to the ground so he could see better. “Protect the wall!” he commanded. “Nobody from the Empire can get through!”

The men below him cheered in response. Straight below him, pale green hair gleamed in the last rays of sunlight. Byleth looked up at him and nodded her head. Claude nodded back, then aimed at his first target as the battle begun.

There was only so much that could be done from the air. Claude did his best to save his arrows for when a single soldier broke through the line, or when one of his friends needed the extra assistance. Otherwise, he kept his axe ready, flying down to slash at an enemy, his wyvern taking out a few men on his own before flying into the safety of the sky again.

The men with the torches inched forward, protected by guards. Claude could sense their anxiety as they made it to their positions one by one and were waiting for his signal. It was not quite time yet. Claude looked out to the back of the Empire’s army, where their commander sat on his horse, watching the battle while flanked by two knights on Pegasi. The man looked like he had no intention of actually joining the battle. Coward, Claude thought bitterly. He desperately wanted to wait for that man to move closer, just a little further into the borders of the monastery. . .

Below him, the Holy Knights cried out. Their line was breaking, there were simply too many enemies. Claude looked out one more time to the back, to see how far in the invaders had come.

And he decided the time was right.

Now!” Claude shouted, flying across the line of knights. The other men holding torches on the ground threw their flames into Claude’s devices, and to his relief, they worked. Fire launched out at their enemies, coating the ground beneath their feet in flames. The church soldiers fled back towards the monastery, letting the men and women who fought them burn while the few healers on their side quickly took care of their minor burns. For the other soldiers, it was too late. Charred, black corpses lay curled up on the pavement where Imperial soldiers used to stand. Easily several hundred people were burned to death in a manner of seconds. The thought churned Claude’s stomach, but if it had not been done, that only would have meant more deaths on Claude’s side. That was simply what happened in war.

The Empire commander shouted something, and his soldiers started to flee. Claude gritted his teeth. “Don’t let them get away,” he shouted, flying his great beast down past his allies. “If they leave now, they will come back again. They must not retreat!”

With the worst of the fires now low enough to make a path, the soldiers under the crest of Flames rushed back into the battle, slaying the remaining men and women who Edelgard had sent to destroy them. Claude dismounted from his wyvern, axe in hand, and pursued some of the remaining men himself. He groaned as he got hit in the arm, then swung his axe at his attacker. The man fell swiftly. They all fell swiftly now that their numbers were thinned. As the last of his enemies fell, Claude panted, checking the wound on his arm. It only cut through the surface, it seemed. Nothing too serious. Claude looked around to seek his next target. All he heard was the crackling of fire, and he could barely see beyond the smoke that filled the air. “Put out the fires!” Seteth’s voice said in the distance. Claude wondered if that meant they had won.

A glimmer of silver armor caught his attention, and Claude’s eyes narrowed. Edelgard’s commander was still there, and based on the way his weapon was positioned, he was preparing to attack someone. Claude’s heart raced, as he realized there was only one person beside himself that man would have stuck around to kill. He ran forward. The commander disappeared behind a building, propelling Claude to run faster. He could hear a skirmish just ahead.

When Claude rounded the corner, he found just what he had feared. The commander was fighting with Byleth, and seeing as she had done far more battling than he had over the last several hours, he was winning. They were too far away for Claude to reach with his axe, but an arrow could end the fight in moments. Claude readied his bow, aiming for the place between plates of armor.

And the tremor in his hands returned.

The arrow released with the spasm of Claude’s hand, glancing off the commander’s shiny metal armor while the man hardly seemed to notice. Claude tried to ready another, but his fingers could not pull the bow string, as much as he desperately tried. So Claude ran. His axe was in his hands before he could remember changing weapons. Was his bow across his shoulders? Did he discard it?

That hardly mattered.

What did matter, was that the commander struck Byleth.

What did matter, was that Byleth staggered backwards, the grip on her sword loosening.

What did matter, was that the enemy commander raised his weapon at the same time that Claude raised his.

What did matter, was that Claude was a second too late to stop the wound to Byleth’s abdomen. And the second wound, as well.

Byleth grunted in pain, falling to the cobblestone ground with a clanking thud of her armor. Claude shouted, plunging his axe into the back of Edelgard’s commander before the man could turn to face him. He coughed up blood as he fell to his knees. Shaking, he looked up at Claude, his lips stained red. Then his eyes went blank.

Just beyond him, Byleth lay on the ground, blood pouring out of her side. “No no no,” Claude said shakily, taking a step forward. Byleth’s eye focused on nothing in particular. She slowly raised her hand up to her wound, then her hand dropped. “Open your eyes, Teach,” Claude uttered, cupping her face in both hands. “Stay with me. Stay awake. Open your fucking eyes!”

“Out of the way!” A man shouted, pushing Claude to the side as he knelt near Byleth. The man, an unmarked soldier, muttered something under his breath and pressed his hand to Byleth’s wound. With his other hand, he removed his helmet and dark silky hair fell against his shoulders. The hand on Byleth’s wound began to glow.

“Linhardt?” Claude asked incredulously. The man kept his eyes on Byleth.

“Sorry I’m late,” Linhardt said, almost lazily. “I didn’t want to come at all, but when I learned that Edelgard was sending soldiers your way. . .” Byleth coughed and gasped, and he held her down. “I would never sleep again if something bad happened due to my own negligence.”

Normally, Claude would have laughed. But Byleth still did not open her eyes. Linhardt cursed under his breath and muttered another incantation. “What’s wrong with her?” Claude asked.

“Internal bleeding,” Linhardt guessed. “I’m trying to heal her from the inside out, and it would be much easier if I could _concentrate_. I’m not much of a fan of blood as it is. . .”

Claude swallowed hard, and took a step back, rubbing the hand that still trembled. Hating that it would not stop. Some soldiers came around to check for injured and subdue the remaining fires. When they saw Byleth, they called for another nearby healer to come help Linhardt. Lorenz came running around the corner with Flayn. “What happened!” Lorenz shouted as Flayn knelt to cradle Byleth’s head, her hands already glowing. The two healers briefly exchanged a look with one another as they worked. Claude did not like that look.

“I couldn’t get to her in time. . .” Claude muttered, not taking his eyes off of Byleth. Her eyes weren’t opening. Why were her eyes still not opening?

“Do you think we can move her?” Flayn asked Linhardt.

“It should be safe now,” he replied. He called over two soldiers watching idly nearby, and asked them to help lift Byleth’s body. Claude stepped forward to help, and Lorenz put out his arm to stop him.

“No,” Lorenz whispered. “If you are seen leaving with the professor, it will make the situation seem dire.”

“It _is_ dire!” Claude hissed, and Lorenz gripped him tighter.

“Nobody needs to know that!” he snarled. “Right now, they need a boost in morale, they need a reminder that we just won our first battle.” He softened his expression, if only slightly. “So put on your stupid, dazzling smile that everyone seems to love, and give the men and women out there the praise that they’ve earned for living through this night.”

Claude looked over Lorenz’s shoulder as Byleth was being carried away. He hated it, but the man was right. He could not show weakness. Not now, at least. With a deep breath, Claude relaxed his posture and grinned as widely as he could muster. “Then lead the way,” he said.

He would run to Byleth when his speech had ended.

“We’ve done all we can,” Manuela whispered to Seteth. Claude did not flinch. He rubbed Byleth’s limp hand between his, not letting his eyes leave her face. Not even when Manuela started speaking more quietly, though he could still hear the words uttered from her lips. Seteth gave his thanks to her then sat on the other side of Byleth’s bed.

“She needs rest,” Seteth said.

Claude nodded numbly.

“Manuela says she might not live through the night. But if she does, then the worst will be behind her.”

“I know,” Claude said. “I heard her.”

Seteth sighed impatiently. “You should go to bed, Duke Riegan.”

“I’ll sleep right here.”

“It isn’t proper to—“

Claude glared at him. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he hissed. “Not at a time like this.” He turned back to Byleth.

“I care about her too, you know,” Seteth grumbled. “You aren’t the only one here who worried about her these last five years, who prayed for her safe return when she was missing.”

“I never said I was,” Claude replied. “I know you care about her well-being. I heard you, after all, the day Byleth’s hair turned green.” He could sense Seteth tense up across the small bed. “If I didn’t hear you express with my own ears that you were against whatever Rhea wanted to do to her, I never would have let you know Byleth was alive again.”

Seteth chuckled darkly. “What makes you so confident you could have kept her presence concealed that easily?”

Claude resisted the urge to clench his fist. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Seteth said nothing, but Claude could feel his eyes burning a hole into the side of his head.

“Is she immortal?” Claude asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is Byleth immortal? Obviously she can be wounded, but the sleep thing. . . It has me curious. Will she continue to escape deathly situations like falling off a cliff? Will it keep her from aging? You and Rhea don’t age, after all. I imagine Flayn doesn’t either.” It sounded too much like a thinly-veiled a threat, but Claude was too strained to find a more clever way to ask and get an honest answer.

“I think you are _tired_, and don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seteth said with a little too much composure. “A sure sign that you should go back to your room and get some sleep.”

“I’m asking if you know how Byleth could have survived in a sleep stasis for five whole years,” Claude clarified. “I’m asking if it had anything to do with whatever Rhea wanted from her, and I’m asking if it will save her life now.”

It was a long while until Seteth answered. “I know little about what Rhea wanted from her,” he uttered. “But it is my understanding that there was nothing done to Byleth that would make her less susceptible to a stab wound than you or I.”

Claude looked up at him skeptically.

“Are you really not going to leave?” Seteth asked.

Claude shook his head. “I don’t want her to be alone,” he murmured.

Seteth grunted in reply. “Then I shall retire. I will keep her in my prayers tonight.”

Claude nodded.

Seteth left the room.

Leaving Claude in silence.

He watched Byleth’s face for an eternity longer, searching it for any little change that would indicate a return to consciousness, but it never came. Claude grew more and more desperate with every passing moment. Tears wet his cheeks as he did the one thing he had not done in earnest since the earliest days of his childhood.

He started to pray.

Byleth’s body felt cold, but her hands were warm. Calloused fingers rubbed against her palm in soothing circles. It reminded her of when she was a child, and her father would hum an old lullaby and hold her tiny hands in his large ones until she fell asleep. He would rub circles with him thumb to the rhythm of his humming. Only, there was no humming now.

Someone else also rubbed circles into her palm once. . .

The next thing Byleth felt was a dull ache in her abdomen. A stab wound, she realized. And it must have been a nasty one, as she felt far too weak to sit up or even open her eyes. That hardly ever happened. Byleth wondered just how much blood she had lost.

“_Gods in the stars_,” a low voice sobbed, pulling her attention. “_Forgive me for my selfishness. . ._”

There was something about the man’s words. . .

Byleth had met many people in her time as a mercenary. Most of them were Fódlan-born, but there were a few who had come from lands beyond, carrying blades, wearing clothes, and speaking languages that Byleth had never seen or heard before. In trade for lessons with the sword, some of them had agreed to teach her the languages of their homelands.

But this was not one such language.

So how did she know it so well?

“Byleth, I’m so sorry,” the man whispered, this time in the common language of Fódlan. Then he proceeded speaking in that other tongue again. Though Byleth did not know all of the words he was speaking, she recognized the structure of it, the rhythm in which the words were uttered. How long had it I been since she had heard those words? She did not know. It simultaneously felt like it could have been a lifetime ago and only a handful of days. All she knew for certain was the comfort they brought her. There was something warm and soft in the familiarity of the words that Byleth could not place.

A tear dropped onto her hand. The prayer—it was a prayer! But from where?—was interrupted again by Fódlan words. “Bring her back,” the man whispered. “I’ll do anything to have her back. Please. I can’t let her die. Byleth, please. Please come back to me. _T’amr mura._ Please wake up.”

_T’amr mura. . .“I give you my strength.”_

Somehow, she knew that phrase was Almyran.

Byleth struggled to move, to comfort this man who was clearly in pain, and at last, her fingers twitched. Sadly, it stopped the man in the middle of his beautiful prayer. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked down at tan hands clutching her pale ones. She followed the hands up to bare wrists and a bandaged arm, to broad shoulders, a strong neck, dirt-smeared cheeks, until at last she looked into the most dazzling emerald eyes she had ever seen.

She knew those eyes, she realized.

“Hey, Teach,” Claude whispered. The room was dark, but Byleth could still make out the look of worry on his usually-confident face. Worry for her, Byleth realized. Something about that made her pulse race faster. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Byleth groaned. Her voice sounded like an old man’s, and the side of her face felt tight, like she had been punched. She looked around, realizing she was in her own room, and tried to piece together the events that brought her there. There was so much smoke from Claude’s plan, she recalled. They were defending the monastery. It had been hard to see, between the late time of day and the smoke in the air—that must have been why her voice was so raspy. She almost did not see the man coming after her until it was too late. They fought. He stabbed her, and. . .

“Manuela said if you didn’t make it through the night, you weren’t going to make it at all.” Claude’s voice was shaking. “I was so afraid you would be gone again. . .” He tried to smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on that offer to leave?”

Byleth contemplated his words in earnest. It had been so hard for her to bridge the gap between the time before and after her five-year slumber. Her heart still ached from a father now long dead, who had used his last breath to tell her that every moment with her was precious. She still reeled in confusion of how she had merged herself with a goddess that had literally plagued her thoughts for months, and whose voice and insight she now found that she missed. Byleth still felt fear at Rhea appointing her as her successor, though she now had followers who had been praying for her return for nearly half a decade. And she still felt guilt for unwittingly causing the breakup between Claude and Petra.

That alone made it tempting enough to take Claude up on his offer to escape Fódlan and never return.

And to an extent, Byleth wanted to do just that. New people in a new land would never know how she had disappeared for five years, would never know why her hair and eyes were green. They would only know her skills with a blade. And with that, Byleth could get back into a routine. Her life could go back to some semblance of. . . normal. At least, what was normal to Byleth before she ever stepped foot into Garreg Mach Monastery. That was all she wanted, really. To be in a place where she felt like her presence was actually helping people, and where she didn’t see strangers with friends’ faces everywhere she turned.

And she nearly told Claude that herself.

Until she looked into his eyes again.

In his eyes, she saw fear and desperation had replaced the careful, casual facade that he always wore. She had feared for weeks now that he was beginning to wear that facade too well. He was too quick to scheme, and every interaction he had with Byleth left her feeling like he wanted something from her, expected something out of her that she could not give. And she could hardly stomach for him to look at her that way, like a tool to use rather than a friend. But that was not how he was looking at her now. There was no calculating. There was no expectation, no schemes, no wall between them. How long had it been since she had last seen Claude look at her with his guard down in this way?

Byleth forced her fingers to uncurl so she could cup his face, the edge of her palm brushing against his beard. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.

Realization crossed Claude’s face. “Are you sure?” he asked. The truth was, Byleth was not sure at all. She was taking a risk, and she knew it. Hell, she even knew it was a foolish one. Byleth could very well lose her life fighting in this war. But she nodded anyway. Because despite her fears, she trusted those eyes. And for a reason she could not fathom, she trusted those two Almyran words he had spoken over her.

_I give you my strength. . ._

“I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy March! Hope all is going well with you guys. Another small chapter this week, but at least it ends a little more hopeful. That counts for something... right?(:


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude writes a letter to an old friend, Byleth asks Claude for a small favor, and Hilda takes on a new role for herself.

“We cannot wait around for more men to come to us,” Claude said. He stood at one end of the long, rectangular table while Seteth sat at the other, with Claude’s old classmates and a handful of the knights of Seiros between them. “Surely, there must be someone we can ask who would be willing to provide us with more soldiers.”

“I don’t disagree,” Seteth replied, looking down at the report of damages and casualties they had suffered in their most recent battle. “Without the support from other nobles, we will be naught but a flare burned bright and fast.”

Instinctively, Claude looked to Byleth for input. Her face was still and dark circles hung under her eyes, but it was good to see her out of her room once more. Her presence was a boost in morale not only for the men and women sitting around the table with Claude, but for Claude personally. It was a reminder that she had turned down his offer, that she decided to fight by his side despite their rocky reunion. That he could still win her over by the time the war ended. Things had been. . . better since that night. Not perfect, but better. For Claude, that was enough for the time being. There was hope as long as things were better.

“Based on my prior experiences with nobles, I have no doubt that we can get a handful of them to _say_ that they will support our effort to end the feud between the Empire and the church,” Byleth began. “The challenge will be in getting them to actually demonstrate that support instead of merely speaking it. I know how I would handle it if I was still just a mercenary. My father and I had quite a few instances where we would finish a job for a noble, and then receive a letter from them claiming we made a mistake and therefore were going to get paid less than what we had agreed upon, or that we weren’t going to get paid at all. So we got in the habit of traveling straight to the noble’s house after a job was done, rather than sending a messenger, because we always got paid what we were owed when we were face-to-face.” Byleth paused to roll her eyes. “But we cant go to each Alliance noble’s house one by one and intimidate them into giving us something loosely promised. Not only would it make us look foolish, but it would be a colossal waste of time. So the question is, how can we get them to give us the soldiers and supplies we need without physically showing up at their doorsteps?”

“In my experience, the Alliance nobles have a herd mentality,” Lorenz said. He shot Claude an apologetic expression. “No one dared to proclaim their allegiance to Edelgard until my father did so first. No less than a month later, over half a dozen prestigious families from the Leicester Alliance started supporting the Empire. You do not need to travel from noble house to noble house asking for help, you only need to find _one_ who you know will back our cause with an army, and let word of their decision push the others along.”

Claude nodded, impressed by how insightful Lorenz’s words were. “Then who do we start with? Do we have a list of families who have remained loyal to the church all this time?”

Seteth shuffled through his papers in search of an answer when Hilda rose from her seat. “Claude,” she said in a manner that indicated he was missing something obvious. “There is one noble who has actively stayed out of both sides of the war that you are overlooking. One who I’m sure would give you more than enough men and women to bulk up our army if you were to merely swallow your pride and. . . write to her?”

“You mean Judith?” Claude asked flatly. Lysithea perked up.

“The Hero of Daphnel? Do you really think she would send us soldiers?”

“Oh, yeah,” Claude replied, trying to laugh. “She and I go way back. It shouldn’t be a problem at all.” _I just have to butter her up first._

Like Claude, Judith was firm on the idea of remaining neutral in Edelgard’s war. In her words, she had seen her fair share of battles and was “too old and tired” to join in anyone else’s fights. It would not be easy, especially because she had somehow found herself on the list of people Claude was estranged from. But. . . if Claude worded the request correctly, he was sure that he could get her to send at least a couple hundred men their way. It would be better than nothing.

“When can you send the request to her?” Leonie wondered.

“As soon as this meeting is done,” Claude replied.

“Then let us conclude for the day,” Seteth said with a sigh. “I still need to make sense of all of these reports, so we can table our discussion for a couple of days while we wait for Lady. . . Daphnel, was it? To reply to Claude. You are all dismissed.”

“You would think we were all still students with the way he treats us,” Caspar muttered beside Claude, causing Leonie on the other side of him to snicker. Claude ignored them both. He was already straightening out a piece of paper and drafting a letter to his mother’s old friend. The rest of the group slowly rose from the table and left the room, save for Seteth and Byleth. Seteth was still looking over his papers, but Byleth carefully stepped over to Claude’s side, leaning over his shoulder to read the letter. Her hair tickled against his cheek.

“How’s your wound?” Claude whispered, trying not to get distracted by how his heart leapt. There was a time in his life when he would not have given a second thought to the close proximity between them. After all, how often had he leaned over her shoulder in a similar manner when she was grading papers or drafting a battle strategy for a mission? Now, it took everything in him to remember what it was he was trying to write.

“Healing,” Byleth replied flatly. “I’ve met Judith before, haven’t I?”

Claude paused, thinking about the question. “You have,” he recalled. “She came to pick me up from school so I could attend a round table meeting, right?”

“She also promised me a duel, and never came back to Fulfill her promise,” Byleth noted, bringing a smile to Claude’s lips.

“I’ll be sure to remind her of that,” he chuckled. Byleth continued to watch as he finished the letter. “Are you worried that I’ll make a grammar mistake, or something?” 

“No,” Byleth replied. “Just making sure you don’t say anything antagonizing to her and ruin our chances of gaining support.”

“I’m not that much of a tactless nuisance,” Claude chuckled. He pulled up a fresh page and rewrote the letter with a more careful hand. “Though admittedly, I don’t write as often as I used to. We’re lucky Judith isn’t a delicate woman.” He folded the paper then addressed the outer half of it. His official seal had been left in Derdriu, so he closed the fold with wax from the candle beside him and blew on it gently. Oh, well. Judith should still know his his hand, Riegan seal or no Riegan seal.

“Are we certain it’s wise to ask her for soldiers, then?” Byleth asked. There was a hint of teasing in her tone, which drew Claude’s gaze back up to her. “What if she’s more sensitive then you realize and has been holding a grudge this entire time?”

He leaned his elbow on the table and raised an eyebrow at her, smirking despite the way his breath caught when his eyes met hers. “Excuse you. I’ll have you know that Judith _loves_ me,” he laughed. “I am a fucking delight, and _very_ charming, if I may be so bold.”

“Is that so?” Byleth replied. Her smile was confident, taunting him to draw her in with quick banter. He would do anything to keep her smiling down at him like that. But when Claude caught sight of the disapproving scowl on Seteth’s face from across the table, he cleared his throat instead.

“I should get this letter sent out,” Claude said weakly. He rose from his chair, holding the paper from the corner so as to not disturb the still-drying wax. When he left the meeting hall, Byleth followed.

“Was Hilda’s birthday a few days ago?” she wondered. Her hand lightly clutched at the place where she had been stabbed.

“It was,” Claude admitted. He kept his pace slow so Byleth wouldn’t have to strain herself to keep up.

“I wish I could have done something for her.”

“She doesn’t mind,” Claude said with a shrug. “You were still recovering, and it’s not like we can do much in the way of celebrating when we can barely get the funds to feed our own army.”

Byleth hummed in response, a faraway look in her eyes. “Just another difference. . . I know I keep saying it, but it’s strange how everything here is so similar yet so different.”

“You mean from our academy days?” Claude asked. Byleth nodded. “You’ll get used to it. It’ll take time, but in a couple of months, everything will simply be in the past, and you’ll have reacquainted yourself with everyone by then. I think that’ll make adjusting easier.”

“That reminds me, I have a question for you,” Byleth said. “What are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”

“Nothing, after I deliver this letter.” Claude looked down at her with a confused expression. “Why?”

“It has come to my attention, recently. . . that I have been unfair to you,” Byleth began carefully. “I have been judging you solely based on the changes that I am not particularly fond of, and have been using that as an excuse to keep you at a distance.” She looked down, playing with a loose strand of hair as they walked. “I’m on healing duty anyway, meaning most of my time is spent idly, so I was wondering if. . . you would be willing to . . . give me the opportunity to get to know you again.” Claude gaped down at her until she finally met his eyes once more. “It doesn’t have to be anything big, we could just sit and have tea like we used to?”

Claude chuckled, then gave a casual shrug. On the inside, however, it felt like his stomach was doing flips. “I like the sound of that,” he said simply, afraid that he would betray himself if he said anything further. “Walk with me to the post box? We can do tea right after.”

“Okay, sure,” Byleth said. A slight flush colored her cheeks. Since they had just stepped outside, Claude wondered if it was due to the last-minute chill they were experiencing. Spring could not come soon enough, in his opinion, and he could not be the only one who felt that way.

“Do you need my coat?” he asked.

Byleth blinked up at him. The blush on her face deepened. “Why would I need your coat?”

“You just seem cold, is all.”

“Are you saying I am too fragile to withstand a slight chill?” she challenged. 

“Believe me, Teach, _nobody_ would mistake you for being fragile. I’m sure I’ll still be terrified of you even when you’re on your death bed.”

“Do you intend to live that long?” Byleth teased.

Claude laughed. “Bold words coming from someone older than—” Claude stopped, then smiled wickedly.

“Oh, goddess. What?” Byleth asked, her tone suspicious. She was still smiling, though. Gods, that smile was going to kill Claude one day.

They slowed their pace as they reached the stables. Claude deposited his letter in the box for the post to retrieve, then they started walking again, this time towards Byleth’s private courtyard. “We have a very serious, very dangerous mystery on our hands that we have been ignoring for far too long,” Claude said with a mischievous grin.

Byleth raised her eyebrows. “Which is?” she prodded.

Claude’s grin widened. “Am I older than you now?”

Byleth’s smile was quickly replaced with a frown. “That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it, though?” Claude questioned. “Let’s break this down, bear with me. You were. . . what? Twenty-one years old, five years ago? Meaning you are either still twenty-one, or you are twenty-six. The question lies in whether you actually aged in the last five years.” They arrived at the courtyard. Claude sat across from Byleth at her table, pretending to study her intently. “You certainly don’t look like you’ve aged.”

“Umm, are we forgetting something?” Byleth asked. She dramatically ran her fingers through her long, mint-green locks. “An ageless woman does not grow out her hair by several inches.”

“That just means time still passed while you slept,” Claude said dismissively. “I’m asking if you _aged_. . .”

“And that’s different how?”

Claude struggled to think of examples, reflecting on how his own appearance had changed in the last five years to see if that would help him. He had not grown any taller—much to his own dismay—but his jaw had squared, his shoulders widened. Overall, he filled out the wiry frame of his youth. Yeah, that was probably the best way to put it. He wondered if the same applied to Byleth. “When you first looked in a mirror after waking up, did you notice any differences? Longer face, bigger nose, more pronounced curves?” Byleth raised an eyebrow at him, and Claude threw up his hands defensively. He could feel his cheeks coloring. “This is _purely_ clinical, Teach. I’m not Sylvain. I don’t need to know the details, but—“

“No,” Byleth replied, saving Claude from saying anything even more stupid than he already had. “Save for the hair, I look the exact same.”

Claude smirked. He prayed his face was not too red. “So, no physical aging.”

Byleth nodded slowly, playing with the golden bracelet on her wrist.

“And no extra life experience, either.”

A shake of Byleth’s head caused some of her hair to fall forward over her shoulder. “Nope. I guess nothing worth noting happened between me falling and waking up.” She was trying to be funny, Claude suspected, but it still caused a throb in his chest. “So I guess it is like the last five years never happened.” Byleth chuckled to herself. “. . . Though it is worth mentioning that my birthdate still dictates that I am twenty-six, I house the soul of a goddess who exists outside of time within me, and I used to think I was fifteen months younger than I actually am, so. . .” She shrugged. “You could also argue that my age is indeterminable.” Her eyes widened. “You know, I just realized I could have started drinking fifteen months earlier if my dad didn’t fake our deaths? Damn that man for not lying and saying I was older instead of younger. . .”

“Don’t get side-tracked,” Claude laughed. “Let’s just say you’re twenty-one. For simplicity’s sake. We can discuss the effect of eternity and your dad’s response to Rhea’s experiment at a later date.”

Byleth made an annoyed noise. “And why not twenty-six, ‘for simplicity’s sake’?”

Claude’s laughed. “Because if you’re twenty-one, that means that I’m older than you, which is really all I want you to admit.”

Byleth stared at him blankly. But Claude saw the gleam in her eyes. He could keep teasing her safely.

“You know, this is a rare moment,” he sighed contentedly. “When a man, younger than his professor, finds a way to age beyond her. Making him, in the end, the elder and wiser being.” He winked at her. “Maybe you should start calling _me_ Teach.”

“You know what? I get the final say, since we’re talking about my age. And I say I’m twenty-six.”

“No!” Claude protested with a laugh. He slammed his hands on the stone table. “Don’t take this away from me, dammit.”

“I hate to be a wet blanket, but frankly, you cannot handle that level of power.” Her eyes shone deeply with mischief.

“You think I can’t handle a nickname? I lead an entire nation!”

“And I hear you are doing a wonderful job at it,” Byleth chuckled. She straightened her shoulders, eyes narrowed. “But there can only be one Teach. And I demand some level of respect around here with that title.” Her lips twitched upward slightly, and her eyelids fluttered. Claude genuinely could not tell if the action was intentional or not. Either way, it made his heart stop beating.

“I should probably actually get this tea going.”

“Oh, yeah,” Byleth said. “We were here with a purpose, weren’t we?” she started to bend down, then winced, taking in a sharp breath.

“Oh goddess, stop, you shouldn’t be moving in your state,” Claude said. He knelt down and pulled out her tea set from its old spot under the table. Byleth must have placed it there recently, otherwise it would have been stolen long ago. “I’m surprised this is still intact.”

“Hardly,” Byleth scoffed. “It was hiding under my bed with the rest of my valuables, but I think one of the canon blasts might have rattled it too hard. Some of the pieces are chipped.”

“So they are,” Claude muttered, pulling out a saucer with a fragment missing from the rim.

Byleth hummed to herself. “I don’t think Ferdinand will ever forgive me if he sees what became of his tea set.”

Claude raised his eyebrows. “Ferdinand gifted you the set? I always thought it was Lorenz.”

Byleth shot him a teasing glare. “I may or may not have let you believe that because I found your rivalry with Lorenz amusing.”

“Oh, is that it?”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“Not about a manner as important as teenage rivalry, surely,” Claude said with a grin.

Byleth dramatically rolled her eyes. “Okay, sit sit,” she said with a huff. “If I only get an afternoon, I better take advantage of the time while I have it.”

The sky was clear, and the stars were bright. Claude reclined on an old stone bench in the middle of the church, looking straight up into the night from the opening in the roof. It was the first moment of silence he had experienced in weeks. A light pair of footsteps alerted him that someone was approaching, but Claude did not turn to see who it was. He had already smelled Hilda’s perfume from halfway across the building.

“I can’t sleep,” she complained, sitting next to him. “I forgot how stiff the mattresses are here.”

Claude chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll get used to them in no time. At the least it beats sleeping on the floor.”

Hilda shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I know that’s probably in the near future for us.”

“If we ever get an army big enough to march into the Empire.”

“Indeed,” Hilda sighed. She snuck a look at Claude from the corner of her eye. “Still, even with the hard mattresses and the architecture being in rubble aside, it’s nice for us all to be here together again. The old Golden Deer, the knights, the professor. . .”

“I’m guessing you have a point to this,” Claude said with a laugh.

“Frankly, I’m surprised you aren’t spending every waking moment of your day trying to sweep her off her feet.”

“We are trying to jump into the middle of a war. You know that, right?”

“So? Wars are a great time for budding romance. Fears every day will be your last, adrenaline running rampant, the tender relief of seeing long-lost loved ones alive—“

“Is this your way of telling me you’re getting back with Lorenz?”

Hilda scoffed. “Please.”

“Because if you were, there’s no judgement here. . .”

“I will never in a million years go crawling back to Daddy’s Boy, okay? And can you stop distracting me, please?”

Claude threw his hands up in the air. “Not my fault you make it so easy,” he teased.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “You’ve got it bad for her,” she began again. “That’s all I’m saying. After you worked out whatever your most recent little spat with her was—and your welcome for encouraging her to try and reconnect with you over tea, by the way—“

“That was because of you?”

“What kind of best friend would I be otherwise?” Hilda teased. “So you better not waste my good efforts. If another guy swoops in while you’re too busy pouring over moldy maps to woo her properly, it’ll be nobody’s fault but your own.”

“And what if I told you I wanted to take things slow?”

“Yawn,” Hilda said dramatically. Claude laughed in reply.

“I’m working on it,” he said carefully. “She’s still adjusting to the fact that five years have gone by without her. I don’t want to add strain to the situation by—“

“Asking her to do you dirty in a dark alleyway?”

“I can and _will_ hurt you.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Hilda snickered.

“Then get it out of your head that I’m going to rush into anything!”

“But where’s the fun in taking things slow? Where’s all the drama and the flowers and poetry and raging sexual tension?”

“I’m aiming for _stability_. You should try it sometime.”

“Ugh, when did you become so responsible?” Hilda teased. Claude playfully elbowed her in the ribs. “Okay, okay! Shit. . . “ she muttered. Then, after a pause to readjust herself so she could lean her head on his shoulder, she continued, “But all jokes aside. . . Even though it’s not how _I_ would do things. . . I think you’re making the right decision.” She smiled at him. “Taking things slow and not rushing into anything just because you might die before you get the chance to make sweet, sweet love to the woman you’ve been fantasizing about for the last five years—”

“Hils. . .”

“Is very. . . mature of you.”

Claude raised his eyebrows.

“And I’ve already recruited myself as your wingman, so I better get a thank you.”

Claude chuckled. “Thank you,” he said sarcastically.

Hilda smiled confidently. “Don’t mention it.”

Claude struggled not to look too eager as he rushed to Byleth’s room. He had finished his work for the day early, and Byleth was still healing, meaning she had not yet started her afternoon training again. He hoped he could catch some free time with her. Hilda was acting ridiculous the night before, but she had a point. Claude may not be in a position to demonstrate his full intentions to Byleth, but he was fully capable of taking the time to repair his bond with her when the opportunity presented itself. “Teach?” he called, opening the door.

“What?” she asked absently. Her hair was tied back with a leather chord, likely to keep her hair from falling in her face as she leaned over her desk.

“Oh. If you’re busy, can come back later—“

Byleth looked up at him with a quizzical brow. “No, you’re fine. I’m just writing in my journal. What’s up?”

Claude instinctively looked down at the journal. Funny, he never considered the fact that it would be written in again. It made sense, of course. It was her diary, and there were plenty of blank pages left. Why would she not write in it? “Do you want to have tea with me?” Claude asked. “I have another free afternoon, and if I’m being honest, I’ve missed our little talks. I was curious to see if you felt the same way.”

Byleth’s eyes crinkled. “Sure, that sounds fun. Can we walk or something instead, though? I’m not really in the mood for tea.”

“Hardly an answer I expected,” Claude chuckled.

Byleth set down her quill then stood up, lightly stretching her arms over her head. “I miss coffee,” Byleth confessed. “But it’s hard to come by in the middle of a war, apparently. Any time I have tea with someone I’m just reminded of it.”

“Are you. . . Pouting over coffee?” Claude asked, amusement thick in his tone.

“Mercenaries don’t pout,” Byleth said. But the look on her face communicated otherwise. Claude couldn’t resist himself. He laughed.

“I just remembered that I have a present for you in my belongings.”

“How the hell could you have forgotten that you have a present for me?”

Claude shrugged. “I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“We’ve been here for six weeks and you haven’t unpacked yet?”

“Yeah yeah, I know. You can make fun of me later. Do you want to come up with me to get it or do you want to Meet me in the courtyard?”

Byleth made a face at him. “Oh go on, I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” She started to walk towards the door.

“Wonderful!” Claude said with a mischievous laugh. He bent down to peck her cheek before he left. “I’ll be right back!”

Claude had nearly forgotten that he had stashed his remaining coffee supply into his pack before leaving Derdriu. But now that he remembered it, he couldn’t wait to see the look on Byleth’s face when—

Did he just kiss her on the cheek?

A deep flush warmed Claude’s face on the winter day, and he prayed that if anyone noticed that they would assume it was from the strong winds. _Okay, Claude told himself. You’re fine. You kiss your friends’ cheeks all the time. No big deal. Sure, you’re barely on friendly terms with her again, but she doesn’t need to know anything is out of the ordinary. You’re fine._

He stuffed the thought down when he got to the room. He could process his mortification later. Coffee for Byleth was more important at the moment. His pack was sitting in the corner of his old dorm, ties loose and undone so Claude could grab a clean shirt from the top whenever he needed, but otherwise everything was still tightly packed. He pulled out his clothing and threw it on the floor, then grabbed the bundle at the bottom that was wrapped in his old cloak.

_Huh_. Claude never realized until then that it still had his uncle’s old pendant attached to it.

Claude carried the bundle back down to where Byleth was heating up water and preparing her filter for the coffee. She no longer clutched at her side as she moved, which brought Claude relief. He still harbored some degree of guilt over her injury. “Ta-da!” Claude beamed, setting the bundle down on the table.

Byleth raised an eyebrow at him, then smirked. “Most presents are wrapped more neatly,” she teased.

“C’mon, Teach! Indulge me! Open it.”

Byleth sighed dramatically, then started the work of unwrapping Claude’s cloak until she could see what it had been protecting.

“After being wrapped around a pound of coffee for a month, I think that old cloak of mine may smell like it permanently.”

“I think you may be right. . .” Byleth said absently, lifting the bag of ground, roasted beans in her hands. She pressed it to her face and inhaled the scent gratefully. “Ah, this brings me back,” she sighed happily. “Did this come all the way from Derdriu?”

“Yeah, I brought it from my own store,” Claude told her.

“The last time you brought me coffee, I think you were trying to bribe me into letting you skip out on training,” Byleth said. She set the bag down, then continued her preparations.

“No bribes this time, I promise,” Claude chuckled. “I drank coffee fairly regularly in Derdriu, and when I was packing for the reunion. . . Well, it seemed like a nice gift if you showed up. Even if it’s a month and a half late now.”

Byleth nodded. She was smiling, but her brow was furrowed, as if she were putting something together in her head. “I don’t remember you drinking coffee before. That’ll have to go on the list of changes.”

“I started after you. . . disappeared. I figured it was a little thing I could do in your honor until you returned,” Claude said. “Here, let me help you. Go sit.” He gently placed his hands on Byleth’s shoulders and nudged her out of the way until she moved to sit down across from him while he finished preparing the coffee. Byleth watched him silently for a moment, that small smile still curling her lips.

“Does this mean I’m your favorite teacher?” she asked.

“I guess you could say that,” Claude said with a nervous laugh. “But you’re technically not my teacher anymore.”

“But I’m still Teach?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be Teach.”

Byleth’s grin widened, though she said nothing. Instead, she sat contentedly humming to herself as she watched Claude work, absently playing with a small strand of hair. She wouldn’t stop smiling, Claude noticed. She had been like that for days, now that he thought about it. It was rather. . . interesting.

“Can I ask you something?” Claude asked. Byleth looked up at him expectantly. “Do you feel. . . different at all, since waking up?”

“You mean from this morning?” Byleth asked. Her eyes widened. “Goddess, Claude, if you put something in my food—“

“No no no!” Claude laughed, putting up his hands defensively. “I mean like, after the five-year sleep. You seem more. . . emotive, I guess. Particularly the last few days.” Claude thought of Hilda’s comment about another man stepping in to romance Byleth, and his stomach clenched. “Has something happened to cause this change?”

Byleth made a face at him, but she seemed to consider his words as he handed her a cup, then sat across from her with his own. “It actually started before the war,” she whispered. “But you are right that I’ve felt a sort of. . . weight lifted. The burden to be the Byleth who was so calm and collected and neutral over everything. . .” She shook her head. “It’s just gone now. And once that was lifted, I find that every little emotion that I felt before, I feel so much stronger now.” A shy smile crept on her lips. “It’s honestly a little difficult to control.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know,” Byleth groaned. She waved her hand through the air. “On the nicer end of things, I _am_ smiling more. Not for any particular reason, I just find that I am. And I’m. . . chattier. I used to see someone I know, and maybe wave or say a few words in greeting, then move on. Now, I want everyone to sit with me for hours just to talk. I have questions I never had before about people’s lives, and I’m elated when I’m asked about my life in turn. I never cared about that stuff before the way I do now. Not really. I’m even more involved in the goings-on of the church.” She made a face at the last sentence. “Though I’m not necessarily sure how I feel about that yet.”

“Did something bad happen?” Claude wondered.

“Not technically, just—“ Byleth’s sighed. “You’re going to laugh at me if I tell you.”

“Teach, why on the goddess’s green earth would I ever laugh at you?” Claude asked. Byleth looked back at him with an unamused expression, and he laughed. “I _won’t_ laugh at you.” He drew an “x” over the left side of his chest. “Cross my heart.”

Byleth laughed breathily, shaking her head. “How is it that the sovereign duke of the Leicester Alliance can still be such a pest?”

“I’m the same man, just with a fancier title,” Claude said with a shrug. He gave her a wicked smile. “You’re avoiding the question.”

Byleth sighed. “Okay, fine. I was sitting in the chapel with Seteth, discussing the cost of rebuilding the walls to the main hall. He started rambling on about the history of the academy, and how it was originally opened to give young adults the opportunity to do the goddess’ work as soldiers in her army. . .” She made a face. “But Sothis hated sending you guys off into battle. She told me so herself. So I snapped at Seteth, and I don’t even know where half the stuff I said came from. It must have been Sothis, because it sure as hell wasn’t me. I’m pretty sure I gave him a lecture on the negative impacts of militarizing a religion and how it is counterproductive to the idea that the church should be a haven to people rather than a place to raise killers.”

Claude raised his eyebrows at her, smiling widely.

“Don’t look so happy, you said you wouldn’t laugh. I have _never_ snapped like that before. I felt so bad afterward.”

“Well, in my opinion, Seteth probably deserved it.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him,” Byleth noted.

Claude couldn’t deny that. “Fine,” he said. “But regardless, nothing you said was _wrong_, and it was probably worth saying to Seteth by some degree, even if not so ‘harshly’.”

Byleth looked unconvinced.

“Consider this perspective. You have an intimate knowledge of the goddess’s will because you lived with her presence in your mind, right?” Byleth nodded. “You are also now the acting archbishop of the Church of Seiros, right?” She looked less happy about it, but Byleth nodded again. “Between those two things, don’t you think that you above everyone have the right to correct the church in order to realign them with Sothis’ will?”

“Hmm,” Byleth huffed, a faraway look in her eyes. For a moment, Claude worried that she was going to misinterpret what he was saying as a ploy to use her or her power, and he wondered if he should apologize to her before she expressed some degree of anger or frustration with him. Instead, when Byleth looked at him, she said, “You’re right, I think.“ Claude felt a wave of relief. “I’ve been so caught up in how the changes in the last five years have affected things out of my control, that I ignored the fact that I could make use of some of those changes. At least until we find out what happened to Rhea. . .” She smiled slightly. “When did you become so wise?”

Claude smiled in turn. “Probably about six weeks ago.”

“Ha-ha.”

Claude smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. “You don’t know what I’ve been up to these last five years. Maybe I was stagnant.”

“True. You _were_ a workaholic who refused to even go on so much as a single date or pretend that you had any personal life whatsoever,” Byleth said. When Claude shot her a confused expression, her eyes crinkled. “Hilda and I had a long talk about you the other day.”

Claude groaned. “Hilda. . .” _So much for being my fucking wingman_.

“You should feel lucky to have friends who care about you.”

“Hilda is more like an annoying pet.”

“You don’t mean that,” Byleth laughed.

“No, I don’t,” Claude said with a smile. However, he wasn’t quite sure he meant it. What part of shit-talking him was supposed to help him? “But you’ll never catch me admitting that in front of her.”

Byleth rolled her eyes. “She’s just worried that you’ll die alone.”

“She’s dramatic,” Claude said quickly. He did not want to address his love life—or lack thereof—over the last five years. It touched too closely on other topics. He started playing with the ring on his finger. “I have another question for you.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. “Changing the subject, are we?”

“Yes,” Claude said firmly.

Byleth chuckled. “I’m listening,” she purred.

Claude’s face was warm, far too warm for the weather outside. “What do you miss the most about how things were five years ago?”

Byleth sipped her tea slowly, looking up at Claude from the rim of her cup. Based on her expression, she had not expected that question from him. Good. That meant she was less likely to circle back to their original topic. “You mean aside from the war, I take it?”

“I feel like that goes without saying, yes. What do you miss about day-to-day life?”

Byleth set down her cup and sighed. “Teaching,” she replied. “Which I know is probably a little silly of me, but I miss being needed by you guys.”

Claude chuckled. “You think we don’t need you now?”

“I mean like, for little things,” Byleth clarified. “Help on homework, tips on workouts. Hell, I even—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—_sort of_ miss Sylvain coming to me to complain about his troubles with women.”

Claude threw back his head and laughed.

“I know it’s ridiculous.”

“Actually, it’s kind of adorable,” Claude said. And there was that flush again. He really couldn’t control his mouth around her. . .

Byleth, fortunately, did not seem to notice. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘adorable’ before,” she said. A wicked grin curled her lips. “If I didn’t know better, I would say the Ashen Demon had a reason to feel insulted.”

Claude raised his eyebrows. She was. . . not exactly flirting, but instigating him, certainly. And Claude was happy to indulge her. “Oh?” he asked. “Are we to duel for my rights to call you adorable, then? Because I’m fairly certain I’ll win under the circumstances.”

“Not in a day or two, you won’t.”

Claude laughed. “Is that a promise?”

Byleth leaned forward, that curl still on her lips. It took everything in Claude not to look down at them, but he stubbornly kept his eyes fixated on hers. “It’s a threat, von Riegan.”

“Just name the time and place, then.”

“Manuela cleared me to start training again tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY I KNOW THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN UP A COUPLE OF HOURS AGO!! This has been a long, weird week, guys. I worked 6 days in a row. I realized I have to set up an appointment to get my eyes checked for glasses because my vision is becoming blurry out of nowhere. My keyboard broke and I had to order a new one, only for my old keyboard to start working again an HOUR after my new one came in (ugh). So. . . here’s a lot of Claude and Byleth talking like normal people and nothing bad happening to make the next week better. I’m so tired. I know there’s not a lot to talk about this chapter, but if you wanna drop into the comments and chat about music or Animal Crossing or season 3 of Castlevania I’ll still be around. Thank you as always for reading, next week will be more exciting!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude, unsurprisingly, loses a bet. Later, he asks Judith for a favor.

“Look, if you’re too afraid to fight me, you can just say so,” Byleth taunted, testing the weight of the practice sword in her hand. Behind her, Hilda bent over her knees laughing at the very idea.

“I’m not afraid,” Claude insisted, pausing to make a face at Hilda. He was already breathing heavy from sparring with the pink-haired woman, and sweating despite the cool breeze rolling in from the open ceiling. Byleth raised her eyebrows, brushing aside her pale green bangs with her free hand. He didn’t know when it had happened, exactly, but Claude knew that Hilda had gone into Byleth’s room a few days prior with a pair of scissors, and when she left, Byleth’s hair somehow managed to look fuller, yet lighter. And to top it off, Hilda brought back the bangs that Byleth had styled her hair with back when she was still their professor. The overall change in her appearance was subtle, yet it still managed to draw Claude’s eye in a way that was horribly distracting. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Byleth said tilting her head to the side. She turned to the woman behind her. “Hilda,” she began. “Do you think Claude is telling the truth, or lying?”

“Oh, he is definitely lying, Professor,” Hilda replied in the same mocking tone. Claude resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Some wingman she was supposed to be. “You can see him quaking in fear from all the way over there.” She giggled, and Byleth smirked in response.

“Have it your way,” Claude sighed, picking up the training axe that had been resting by his feet.

“Tempting as it is to watch you get your ass beat, I’m going to go bathe,” Hilda called out to him. “And Professor, try to avoid Leader Man’s face. He needs to look pretty when he sees the Hero of Daphnel tomorrow.” She winked at Claude behind Byleth’s back before leaving the courtyard.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Claude asked for easily the third or fourth time.

Byleth glared playfully across the courtyard at him, readying her blade. “I refuse to let you call me adorable, Claude. Not unless you earn it.”

“That’s not what I’m asking about.”

“Oh? I thought we had a bet going on?”

“We do, but I’m more worried about your injury,” Claude sighed. “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Hilda, but I know your side was acting up again.” That made him blush, though for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom. He had _happened_ to run into Manuela that morning, and she _happened_ to notice that Byleth seemed more in pain that morning than she had been the day before. It wasn’t like Claude was seeking out the information. “You might need to take it easy for a few more days.”

In a moment’s notice, Byleth was charging him, and Claude barely had the time to block her blow before she swung at his ribs. “We ride out to meet Judith and her army in a manner of hours,” she grunted, continuing to move her sword. “I’ve handled much worse. And I will not be treated like a child!”

Claude blocked her blow, and aimed for Byleth’s legs to make her jump backwards and give himself room. He was almost surprised when the maneuver worked. “I’m not treating you like a child,” he began carefully. He grunted when Byleth came at him again and managed to strike his ribs.“I’m trying to keep you from worsening your injury.”

“This is war,” Byleth countered between thrusts and parries. Her sword nearly struck him in the jaw. “Risks are necessary, and I’m not going to sit back and pray—“ her breathing was coming out harder—“for you safe return when I can assure it myself.”

It was a low blow, but Claude struck her in the side. Not where she hand been stabbed, of course, but close enough to gauge how much pain she was in. When Byleth sucked in a sharp breath between gritted teeth, it confirmed Claude’s suspicions. She was trying to hide her pain.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Claude assured her. “We aren’t marching to—shit!—marching to battle, we are just heading out to receive the—stop aiming for my fucking head!—the troops and supplies from Judith.”

“In the Valley of Torment,” Byleth growled. She lifted her sword again, but Claude deflected her blows much more easily now that he had gotten a strike in. He did feel a _little_ bad about that. But he had a point to make.

“In Aillel,” Claude corrected with a grunt. “The Valley of Torment is just a nickname, referring to something that happened long before you and I were ever born.” He managed to land another blow on Byleth’s shoulder, and that seemed to refocus her. Her swings came back faster than before. Claude’s breaths came sharper and quicker as he went back on the defensive. “We aren’t even bringing—our army with us, just the Golden—Teach, watch it—the Golden Deer, Catherine and Shamir.”

“So, everyone I care about,” Byleth huffed. She took a brief pause. She was panting heavily, her chest rising and falling and—Claude needed to concentrate. There was no telling when she would move back in. And she was _fast_. Far faster than Claude remembered.

“Alastair will be here,” Claude pointed out. “And Seteth, Hanneman and Manuela. If it makes you feel better, we can take a few battalions with us for good measure. But any more than that, and our movements will rouse the suspicions of watchful eyes.” Byleth leapt forward, striking him in the shoulder. Claude snarled, hating that he was caught off guard. “We don’t need your gift this time around. Please, Byleth. Stay here and rest.” In the middle of his plea, Byleth changed the direction of her swing and hit the back of Claude’s knees, sending him to the ground on his back.

“And what if the unexpected happens?” she asked, still panting. She positioned the tip of her sword at his throat, so Claude dropped the training axe and raised his hands in defeat. That must not have been enough, because she dropped down, her knee pinning his chest so she could leer over his face. Were Claude not just a _little_ pissed off, he would have been more worried about the compromising position she had put him in. “I love that you are trying to help me, but even with five years passing, my battle experience still surpasses yours. If I say I am well enough to go, then I am well enough to go.” Her bright green eyes flashed with frustration. “You yielded, by the way, so I win. You’ve lost your right to call me adorable,” Byleth finished flatly. She dropped her practice sword at Claude’s feet then marched away. “I’m going to pack for the journey.”

“Do you still think it was a bad idea to bring me along?” Byleth murmured. Claude clenched his fists, following Byleth’s eyes down to the half-charred corpse a few feet away. They had a stroke of bad luck. One of the Kingdom houses that had sided with Edelgard happened to have their army out on patrol that passed by just before Judith arrived. The rivers of lava between them were the only thing that kept Claude’s handful of fighters from being overrun in a manner of minutes. Still, the echoes of cries that never happened, the lifeless faces of men and women now walking past him indicated that their casualties still could have been a lot worse. The young man whose body he and Byleth were now standing over, on the other hand, was a travesty. “Did you even see him on the battlefield?” Byleth asked.

“No,” Claude replied numbly. His arm ached from a wound now bruising from the impact of a blade. He clutched onto it, his hand becoming slick with blood. He would have to find Marianne soon to stop that. “I don’t remember seeing him at all.”

“Oh, Ashe. . .” Byleth whispered. She wavered, hanging onto Claude to keep from collapsing. He made note of the fact the she was holding onto her side. “The last time I spoke with him was shortly after my father died. He and Annette baked me sweets. Much like what was done for him when Lonato. . . He was such a sweet boy, he didn’t deserve this.” Claude forced himself to look away from Ashe’s body and towards Byleth. Tears filled her eyes as she pressed her hand firmly to her mouth and sobbed. Claude said nothing. He did not know Ashe well, but he liked him. Ashe was always kind to everyone. He certainly didn’t deserve to die in the wasteland they now stood on. Not like this. “Claude?” Byleth asked. “How well do you remember events when I turn back time?”

“It varies,” Claude admitted. “I would say the more aware I am of the action, or the more deeply affected I am by the changes, the more likely I am to remember them.”

Byleth nodded, not taking her eyes off of Ashe. “Remember the day we reunited, when I asked you if you wanted to use me?”

“I do,” Claude said, though a part of him feared where she was going with that question.

Byleth looked him hard in the eye, her mouth set with determination. “I agreed to stay and let you use me, and we’ve been working on getting reacquainted, but it all means nothing if you don’t have each other’s backs on the battlefield.” She flexed her hands. “I need you to prove that you will trust me when it matters—

Srettam

Ti nehw

em tsurt lliwuoytahtevorpotuo—“

Claude snarled as he dodged an arrow on the back of his wyvern. He could not tell where the arrow had come from. The sulfur and heat in the air overwhelmed all of his senses. All he knew was that he was fucking _pissed_. Byleth was going to lecture him later about how she was right to join them to meet Judith, Claude was sure of it.

“Claude!” Byleth’s voice called from the ground. Claude looked down, and saw her waving frantically for him to fly down to her. _Your timing isn’t ideal, Teach_, Claude thought in annoyance, but he flew down, anyway. “Take me on your wyvern,” she commanded, already climbing up the beast’s thigh. “We have to hurry north!”

“Why?” Claude demanded, unused to Byleth expressing such urgency on a battlefield.

“You have to trust me, Claude,” Byleth urged. He looked back at her, catching sight of the sunken look in her eyes and the heaving of her chest as she panted. He recognized the symptoms. She had recently rewound time.

A single sentence ran through his head.

_I need you to prove that you will trust me when it matters_.

Claude kicked his wyvern’s sides, and it soared back into the sky, turning northward as Claude guided it. He did not know why, but there was a sense of someone’s life being on the line. Claude urged the winged beast straight ahead, curving only when he caught sight of a sniper raising their bow upward in their direction. Two such archers stood only a dozen or so paces apart from each other, with one positioned precariously by the edge of the flowing lava.

“There!” Byleth shouted, pointing at the young man with his bow raised. “Lower me in front of him!”

Claude wanted to protest, afraid of them being flung out of the sky by one of the arrows flying toward them, but he did as he was told. It was only just before the wyverns talons hit the ground that Claude notice the closest man’s distinct gray hair. And he halted.

It was Ashe. Ashe, who had been a student with Claude at the academy. Whose adoptive father had revolted against the church, and Claude’s class had been tasked with apprehending. Who Byleth had left an orphan when her only choice left was to kill the man who had adopted him. Ashe raised his bow, but when recognition crept on his face, he faltered. The other archer seemed distracted by Leonie and her battalion of mercenaries, who must have followed close behind when Claude left their ranks.

“Professor. . . Claude,” Ashe said carefully. His bow was half-raised, as if he had not yet decided whether to treat them as enemies or old schoolmates. Claude mirrored his position, just in case Ashe chose the former. Byleth, on the other hand, sheathed her sword, taking a cautious step forward with hands raised. Claude’s heart filled with dread as he recognized the scene. It was the same as when she had faced Lonato so long ago. Claude’s hand twitched on the bow, but otherwise he remained still. “There have been rumors about an Alliance resistance joining the war, but in my wildest dreams, I didn’t think I would see you be apart of it,” Ashe said. His eyes flicked briefly from Byleth to Claude. “We all thought you were dead.”

“It’s a long story,” Byleth said slowly, taking another step forward. She halted when Ashe raised his bow a little higher. Claude clenched his teeth as he watched. Byleth was now in his line of sight. He didn’t have a clear shot to Ashe anymore. _Byleth, what the hell are you doing?_

_I need you to prove that you will trust me when it matters_.

“I don’t want to have to do this,” Ashe admitted. “But for Lonato—“

“Do you _really_ want to follow in his footsteps?” Byleth demanded. Claude expected that to anger Ashe, but instead his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “He died for a lost cause. When he was offered mercy, he chose his own pride instead and died because of it.” Claude’s heart was pounding in his ears. “I did everything I could to stop him, and I failed, Ashe. I failed Lonato and I failed you.” Ashe’s bow finally lowered again, and he allowed Byleth to take another step forward. “Come with us,” Byleth said. “I don’t want to have to fail you again.”

Ashe’s shoulders slumped as he seemed to ponder her words. Claude shifted, his nerves getting the better of him, and Ashe looked in his general direction. Before he could react, Ashe aimed his bow and let an arrow fly. 

Claude braced himself for the impact, shocked when instead he heard the grunt of a man behind him. When Claude turned around, he saw a Kingdom soldier on the ground a mere two feet away. His body rolled down the slightly-sloped ground, and he was taken in by the river of lava below. Claude sucked in a sharp breath, and he heard two pairs of feet run toward him. “Good aim,” he said absently. Ashe looked up at him with a nervous expression. Claude did his best to smile as he pat the silver-haired man on the back. “Welcome to the resistance.”

“A feast?” Judith asked incredulously. She threw her horse’s reins on a nearby hook in the stables then crossed her arms. “When you told be you needed men and supplies for a war, I didn’t expect you to be the kind to treat such a gift so frivolously.”

“It’s not frivolous,” Claude promised her, though the older woman looked unconvinced. “Look, the men and women who have been with us for the last two months have been on the run, hiding in forests and battling Empire soldiers for years. We can barely provide beds the more they come in, and it has been a struggle just to keep everyone fed every day. They need a boost in morale that goes beyond a well-written speech. They need something tangible. I just want to give that to them.”

Judith scoffed. “You are the only person I know who could make a party a moral obligation, boy.”

Claude smiled in his most charming manner at her, choosing to ignore the fact that she still called him “boy”. “Does that mean you’ll agree to it?”

With a smirk, Judith rolled her eyes. “I suppose I can supply the goods for _one_ feast. But this will not become a regular occurrence. I’m not made of money.”

“Of course!” Claude replied. He tried to be serious, but found himself grinning regardless. Fortunately, Judith had always been amused by his antics.

“I see the professor is around again to watch your back,” Judith said as they began walking toward the mess hall. “I’ll admit, I thought your ramblings about her returning one day during roundtable meetings was a sign of growing madness for a while. . .” She was watching Byleth, who was sitting at one of the long tables and laughing with her old students. “I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

“You and me both,” Claude admitted. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t find her here when I came for her.”

“You mean you expected her to be here? You didn’t just meet her again by chance?” Judith furrowed her brow.

“I. . . had my suspicions.”

“_How?_”

Claude forced a smile. “Call it a manner of faith,” he said. Because how else could he explain how he knew Byleth would return? Judith already admitted that she thought he was growing mad. Claude still wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong. But madness or not, it led him to Byleth. And that was what mattered.

Judith raised an eyebrow. “You can be so strange, boy.”

“I thought that was one of my charms.”

“It’s one of your annoyances, there’s a difference,” Judith scoffed. But when Claude beamed up at her, she started laughing. “Come on, let’s go plan your big feast,” she said. “And while we’re at it, what can you tell me about that delicious retainer of yours? The one with the scar on his face?”

Music filled the reception hall, followed by the cheers of hundreds of soldiers. Claude sat back in his chair, his belly full and an ale in his hand. He had been right, not that he was surprised. The men and women who had joined their resistance had wide smiles on their faces, the likes of which he had not seen since they walked through the front gate at Seteth’s call. Good. Claude would need their joy, their confidence, if his plan was going to work. He intended to have this war won in a manner of months, but that would require the enthusiastic support of the men and women around him.

“You look too down for a party!” Caspar’s voice boomed. He sat beside Claude humming to himself, head lightly tilting from side to side. Claude grinned, amused by the subtle signs that he would be drunk in a few more gulps. “Empty that cup in your hands then go grab another! If anyone around here deserves a night off, it’s you.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Claude laughed. The plotting and scheming could wait one more night. Claude took a long drink then looked back at Caspar, who was no longer paying attention to him. Dancing had begun in the middle of the room, and Leonie was at its center, being swung in large circles by Raphael with peals of laughter.

“She really is something, isn’t she?” Caspar muttered. He took a long drink, and Claude did his best not to laugh. After the rough reunion they had, it hardly felt right to tease him. Especially with Caspar remaining so amiable.

“She is,” Claude agreed. “She looks nice with her hair grown out.”

“I thought she was pretty before she grew it out,” Caspar muttered. Claude nudged him on the shoulder.

“Then ask her to dance with you during the next song!” he said, and Caspar’s face went whiter than a sheet.

“I’m more of an drinker than a dancer,” he argued.

“That’s no way to reply. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? Leonie!” Claude called, and Caspar tried to walk away. Claude gripped him by the elbow and held him in place, waving Leonie over with his other hand as the song ended.

“What’s up?” Leonie asked, her face flushed from dancing and her smile wide. She looked back and forth between the two men.

“Caspar here doesn’t think he’s a good enough dancer,” Claude said confidently, ignoring the pleading look on his friend’s face. “I was hoping you could help me prove him otherwise.”

Leonie’s eyes glinted with mischief. “And you didn’t want to dance with him yourself?” she teased, which made Caspar blush harder.

“Oh, I would love nothing more,” Claude laughed. “Only I know for a fact that you’re a better dancer than I am, so my teaching would only be a disservice to him.”

“That’s for certain,” Leonie chuckled. She smiled warmly at Caspar and held out her hand. “Dance with me?” she asked. “I’ll show you all the steps, it’s easy.”

Caspar sputtered, but luckily Leonie was smoother. She took the drink out of the man’s hand and gave it to Claude before leading him to the center of the room with a hop in her step. Claude chuckled to himself, more than a little pleased with his latest scheme.

“You seem to have a knack for that,” Byleth’s voice said on the other side of him. Claude looked up at her, grinning in response to the little smirk on her face. “Even as a student, you were always aware of the other Deer’s moods. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you play match-maker before, too.”

“I just like to keep people happy,” Claude said with a laugh. Byleth smiled, resting her hand on her hip as she watched the dancers. She was wearing a knee-length skirt and tights paired with a sweater, none of which Claude had seen on her before. He wondered if Hilda had pressed her to borrow some of her clothes. If so, Claude was grateful. The look was simple yet stunning on her. At the very least, it was nice to see her not wearing armor for once. “Will you dance with me?” Claude asked. Byleth looked down at him and laughed.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, my friend,” she teased, leaning down to steal his cup and talk a large swallow.

“Not at all,” Claude said. He stood up and stretched out his hand, giving her a wink for good measure. “I promise to not get too handsy.”

“Oh, well, what’s even the point then?” Byleth laughed. She allowed Claude to take her hand and walked with him towards the other dancers. “You’re better at this than I remember,” she murmured in his ear between twirls.

“I’ve been around long enough to get some practice in,” Claude told her, trying to not enjoy it too much when she leaned in closer to hear him.

“Have you done a lot of dancing in the last five years?” Byleth asked. Claude spun her again, enjoying the way it made her grin.

“I’ve done some, but not recently,” Claude admitted. “I tend to get invited to more parties than I attend.”

“Way to be modest, von Riegan.”

“I can’t help that I have a winning personality that people want to be around.”

“Mmm, indeed,” Byleth said with a mock seriousness. “Well, it certainly has nothing to do with your position in the Alliance.”

Claude shook his head, pretending to be scandalized by her words. “Never!” he hissed. “Who in Fódlan would ever use a man for his crest or his title?” The pair shared a laugh, but the action made Byleth suck in a sharp breath, steadying herself against Claude’s chest. “Do you need a break?” Claude murmured.

Byleth nodded her head. “I think I pulled a muscle too close to my injury when we were in Aillel.”

“Uh-huh,” Claude said, guiding her to a nearby table. “Certainly nothing to do with the fact that you should have _listened to me_ and taken it easy.”

Byleth looked up at him with a gleam in her eye. “Never,” she said in the same tone Claude had used. It brought laughter to his throat. Though thinking of Aillel made Claude think of Ashe. He looked out towards the crowd for the silver-haired man. He was being pulled into a dance by a young soldier, and had a sheepish smile on his face. Good. Claude figured at some point he would have to make a better effort to befriend him. After all, Ashe technically had turned against his home nation to side with them in the war, and it wasn’t going to be easy. The image of his body, lifeless and half-blackened by lava flashed in Claude’s mind and gripped his stomach.

Above all else, Claude was happy to see Ashe alive.

As he was about to sit beside Byleth, Claude noticed a growing crowd around the table beside them. “Alright, alright, you assholes!” Judith’s voice boomed. Claude’s mouth curled into a wicked grin.

“What?” Byleth groaned. “I know that face.”

“We are about to get some entertainment,” Claude chuckled. He pushed his way to the front of the other table, leading Byleth by the hand. Judith stood at one end of the table with Catherine at the other, each wearing a confident grin. The length of the table between them was filled with overflowing mugs of ale.

“The rules probably haven’t changed much since back in your day,” Catherine taunted. She pushed up the sleeves of her loose white tunic. “She who drinks the most without puking or passing out wins.”

“Are you sure you want to lose to an old woman like me?” Judith jeered. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of the others.”

Catherine laughed. “Oh, I do plenty of that on my own.”

Judith’s eyes flickered to Claude, and her smile widened. “Care to be the judge, boy?” she asked. Claude gave her a wink.

“It would be my honor,” he said, stepping forward. “Three, two, one. . . Drink!”

The two women simultaneously reached for the cups closest to them, chugging the ale while their respective comrades cheered them on. Claude cheered for Judith, and in turn, Byleth began chanting Catherine’s name. Claude waited for Judith to pick up her third mug—with Catherine barely finishing her second—before adding his own little twist to the game. He grabbed one of the cups in front of him from Judith’s side of the table and began chugging as well. Judith nearly spit out her drink in shock.

“Claude, you son of a bitch—“

Claude slammed down the mug, pointing a finger and giving her a mocking grin. “That’s no way to talk about your best friend’s son!” he jeered. “Don’t get distracted, now!”

Judith groaned, and Catherine snickered as she lifted her third mug to her lips. “Shit,” the older woman growled, struggling to maintain her lead. Claude finished his drink then took a second cup from Catherine’s side.

“Goddammit!”

Claude wiggled his finger at Catherine and kept on drinking. From beside him, Byleth chuckled at how the simple action frazzled the other two women. Once that drink was finished, Claude left them alone for a few more drinks. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that both women could drink him under the table with no contest. But any time one seemed to be gaining the upper hand over the other, Claude would take a drink or do something equally distracting to allow the other woman to take the lead.

“Why won’t you just let them play?” Byleth laughed. Claude struggled to swallow. His game was really getting out of hand.

“I like to keep things interesting,” he told her. “And there’s technically no rule against stealing their drinks.” Byleth shrugged, then took one of Catherine’s cups and started drinking, too.

“Professor!” Catherine protested, but she and the other knights of Seiros laughed. Catherine slammed her cup down, gripping the table to keep from swaying. Judith cocked an eyebrow at her, a confident smile on her face.

“Anything you want to say to me?” she asked. Catherine looked up at her with a snide smile. She started to say something, then hiccuped suddenly, having to grip the table again.

“Fuck!” she groaned. Claude thought she sounded like she was slurring. After a hard tilt of her body, she sighed loudly. “Okay, okay. I yield.”

Judith’s soldiers cheered along with Claude, and the few by her side clapped her on the shoulders as she laughed. The brunette smiled as she swayed away, dropping onto the closest chair she could find. “That was amusing,” Byleth whispered. “I haven’t seen drinking like that since my days as a mercenary.”

“Oh yeah?” Claude asked. “Did you ever partake?”’

Byleth shrugged. “I usually left the drinking to my dad.” She smiled sadly. “He probably would have given Judith a run for her money.”

Claude smirked. “That would have been an exciting set of challengers, Judith and Jeralt.”

“A cluster-fuck, more like it,” Byleth muttered between drinks, but she laughed regardless. Her cheeks were pink, and she swayed side to side as she hummed happily to herself. Claude realized he did not know when, exactly, she had started drinking that day.

“Are you drunk, Teach?” he asked with an amused tone. Byleth giggled.

“I might be,” she admitted. “My tolerance has been low since I started working for the church.” Noticing her cup was empty, she set it down and searched the remaining mugs for a full one. “But I also haven’t indulged in a while.”

Claude chuckled. It had been quite a while since he had let loose as well. Maybe Caspar was right. Maybe he did need a night to relax.

“Clauuuude!” Hilda’s voice whined. She stumbled over and took Claude’s hand in hers. “You owe me a dance. Professor—I mean, Byleth—will you tell Claude he owes me a dance?”

“Claude, you owe Hilda a dance!” Byleth scolded playfully. She winked at Claude, who was already being dragged away by his inebriated friend. He swayed her gently in a circle, afraid too much motion would cause her to tip over completely.

“How’s your night going?” she asked him. “Did you earn yourself a make out buddy?”

“Are we still on that?”

“I guess I just pulled you away from her though. . .”

“Byleth is my friend,” Claude reminded her in a low, harsh whisper. “And barely that at this point.”

“Making out with a friend while you’re drunk is nice,” Hilda said matter-of-factly. “That’s all I’m saying. Sylvain and I used to make out alllll the time when we were drunk, but we were still friends the next day.”

“I’m well aware,” Claude said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve pulled you off Sylvain a couple of times.”

“That’s because you’re no _fun_,” Hilda groaned. “You’re all ‘soulmates and hand holding’ and I think you could stand to drink a little more to change your perspective.”

“And I think you could stand to drink a little _less_,” Claude laughed. Hilda rolled her eyes.

“I’m not drunk,” she muttered. “Do you hear a slur?”

“No, but I know you well enough to know that you don’t start slurring until you’re ready to black out.”

Hilda pouted. “You know, you got a lot less fun when you started getting to know me better.”

Claude threw his head back and laughed.

“Come _on_,” Hilda said. “Take a shot with me. The night is young, and we are young, and if you aren’t throwing up tomorrow, I’m not doing my job right.”

“Why are we friends again?” Claude teased. Hilda stuck her tongue out at him as she began tugging his arm. “Okay, okay fine,” Claude laughed. “Just one drink.”

The spring night was cold, despite how much warmer the days were getting. Claude shivered, clutching his arms around his body. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he had lost his coat at the feast, or had forgotten to bring it altogether. All he knew was he was freezing, and he wanted to be curled up in a warm bed.

“Fucking Hilda,” he groaned to himself. How did that woman manage to convince him three shots in a row was a good idea? He was pretty sure one of those shots was supposed to be hers. It wouldn’t surprise him if he ended up forgetting half the night. Claude only prayed he didn’t end up sick in the morning.

He must have exited from the far side of the reception hall on accident, as he found himself trudging through the old academy courtyard to get to his room. Claude frowned to himself. He did not want to walk past the entire length or the former dormitories, only to walk all the way up the rickety stairs to the second floor, then walk over half the length of the dormitories again to reach is room. It sounded like a chore.

He just wanted a bed, and he knew there had to be one more close by that he could reach without having to climb those gods-forsaken stairs. So, he let his feet guide him, hardly caring where he would end up as long as he could get out of the damned cold. When he reached a door, Claude fumbled for the handle and nudged it open, then plopped onto the bed in the room.

He sighed happily.

“. . . Claude?” Byleth’s voice asked.

“Hey, Teach,” Claude muttered. The room was dark, but he could hear Byleth roll over in her bed.

“This isn’t your room,” she muttered tiredly.

“Yeah,” Claude sighed. “I know.” Byleth shuffled again. Claude could feel her breath on his face. He faintly detected the smell of alcohol. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk,” Byleth groaned. “Why are you here?”

“Stairs too far,” Claude mumbled. His legs were falling off the bed. “And it was too cold t’walk.”

Byleth laughed breathily.

“Scoot over, you’re hoggin’ the middle.”

“This is my bed!” Byleth protested. Claude ignored her, since she was still laughing, and lifted his body to shift further from the edge. “Are you still wearing your boots?”

“Yeah. . .”

“You are not putting those—those filthy things on my blankets,” she told him. There was a slight slur in her voice, Claude was sure of it.

“I jus’ cleaned them earlier today.”

“Oh, are we telling lies now, Duke Riegan?” Byleth asked. Claude squinted up at her. He could just make out her eyes gleaming and her lips parted slightly as they curled up in a grin. Those full, pink lips. . .

“Fiiiine,” Claude muttered, trying to kick his shoes off before giving up and pulling his body upwards to unlace them.

“Goddess, you’re a wreck.”

“I am a wreck,” Claude admitted. “You’re not a wreck, but I am. I’m justa big—“ He couldn’t get his fingers to work for him, for some reason. They felt thick like sausages. “Fuckin’ Hilda did this t’me. Never trust a pink-haired. . . Gods, I’m a wreck.”

“Aha!” Byleth shouted. “I knew you still said gods. Your whole ‘goddess’ thing is a—“ she leaned forward and poked his cheek. “A scheme. Admit it.”

“Teach, jus’ help me!”

Byleth sighed, dropping onto her stomach and reaching her arms over the side of the bed. “Here,” she murmured, pulling at the laces and helping him remove his boots. It was quite a chore, between the two of them, as Byleth’s fingers hardly seemed to cooperate either. When his feet were finally bare, Claude fell straight back onto Byleth’s bed, laying sideways. Byleth groaned. She laid on top of him in protest. “You’re warm,” she sighed, placing her cool fingers on his neck.

“Hmmm,” Claude responded. His head felt heavy, and his tongue thick. The heat of her body warmed his chest, and he closed his eyes feeling the rise and fall of her breathing. It felt so nice. . . “Hey, Teach?”

“What?” Byleth muttered.

“Tell me a secret.”

Byleth huffed. “Why?” she asked.

Claude shrugged. “I prob’ly won’t remember in the morning. Why not? I’ll tell you one too. I promise.”

Byleth chuckled, and her breath tickled Claude’s neck. “Okay, but you have to lay down the right way first. I wanna pillow. . .”

Claude shifted his weight, and when Byleth moved off of him, he crawled to the empty space on the bed so he was finally laying the right way. Byleth collapsed beside him. “Secret,” Claude demanded. The room was quiet for a while.

“This is the first time I’ve gotten drunk since my dad died that I wasn’t sad,” Byleth whispered. Her breathing had slowed, and each word was spoken in an almost lazy manner. Silence hung for a while longer. “Does it ever go away?” she whispered.

“Does what go away?”

“The pain,” Byleth said. “Of losing someone you love.”

Claude wrapped his arm around Byleth’s shoulders and nuzzled his face in her hair. “It gets better. But you’ll still miss ‘im. I miss Hadassah. A lot. I always do. But. . . My heart’s not so sad anymore.” He squeezed her assuringly. “Your heart won’t be sad forever.”

“Hmmm,” Byleth sighed. She tilted her head toward his. “Your turn.”

Claude considered his answer briefly, then giggled. “I’m the crown prince of Almyra.”

“You are not.”

“Says who?” Claude whined. “You dunno know my life.”

Byleth chuckled, low in her throat. It took so long before she moved or spoke again, that Claude wondered if she had fallen asleep. “Tell me. . . Something I’ll believe. . . Von Riegan.”

“I only have one secret you’ll believe,” Claude said. “‘But I don’t wanna say it loud. . . Can I—can I tell you in another language? I think I can do that.”

Byleth shrugged. So slightly that Claude barely felt it.

“_I keep thinkin’ about kissing you_,” Claude murmured in his native tongue. Even Almyran, somehow, felt thick in his mouth. But it felt better than the Fódlan common language, at least. “_I want to kiss you. But. . . A gentleman never kisses a lady drunk. So I won’t do it. I want to, but I won’t, so don’t ask me_.”

“Okay then. . . I won’t ask. . .” Byleth replied, tucking her head under Claude’s chin. Claude wasn’t entirely sure if she was replying to what he said or if she meant she wouldn’t ask him what he was saying. Yeah, that had to be it. After all, Soleth knew Almyran, but Byleth did not. Byleth, who Claude was fairly certain was now asleep. Claude still held onto her. His eyelids grew heavy, and the world got darker.

The sunlight from the window touched Claude’s eyelids, urging him awake. He blinked, the pounding in his head causing him to frown at the morning light. Gods, what did Hilda do to me last night? When he could finally open his eyes enough to see, Claude realized his room did not quite look right to him. When he arched his back and stretched his arms, his knuckles brushed against bare skin.

Claude froze. He wasn’t in his room, he realized. He looked around quickly.

He was in Byleth’s room.

_Oh, gods. Oh gods, oh gods!_ How did he get in there? Why did he not remember going into her room? His heart began pounding at the implications. With a gulp to steel himself, Claude looked straight down.

. . . Okay.

At least he was fully clothed. And Byleth. . .

Claude sat up straight, looking over at the sleeping figure beside him. She was curled in a tight ball, her hair falling in her face as she snored softly. From what Claude could see, she appeared to have all of her clothes on, as well. _Thank the gods._ It was embarrassing enough falling asleep in her room with no one to witness it. If she had been awake. . . Would they need to talk about it? Was there anything to talk about? After all, it wasn’t like anything happened. _Right?_ But for the love of Seiros, _why_ was he sleeping in her room?

Claude needed to leave, before someone came into the room looking for Byleth. Or worse, before she woke up and saw _him_ in _her_ bed. The thought made his face burn hot. Afraid to discover how Byleth would react, Claude slipped off the bed, pulled on his boots and crept out the door, running to his room before anyone could notice his absence.

At least, that was what he had wanted to do.

About halfway down the second-floor hall, the door to Lorenz’s room opened, just before Claude passed by. Claude froze, a stream of curses flowing through his head. A single figure left the room, and Claude furrowed his brow, taking in the sight of a disheveled and half-awake Hilda. She blinked slowly, closing the door to Lorenz’s room without breaking eye contact with Claude.

“If you don’t ask,” she began lazily, “then neither will I.”

“I think you have yourself a deal,” Claude muttered. They each trudged to their respective rooms. Claude closed the door behind him once he reached his, stripping to his underclothes before creeping beneath his covers with a groan. He was going to need to research hangover cures after the world stopped spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to every man who I have had to explain the magic of hair layers to.
> 
> Also, I would like to give a special welcome to my friend, who has FINALLY caught up on Turn Back the Hands at my request. Now you have to wait until Sunday like everyone else hehehe


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude prepares to march to Myrddin Bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal stuff here, Fire Emblem stuff after the chapter.
> 
> I am finally set up to work from home. Meaning I no longer have to worry about getting sick by seeing clients in the office. The only downside is my work hours have been cut down. Still, I’d rather have a smaller paycheck than risk getting sick right now. And shorter work hours hopefully mean I’ll have time to write more again. We shall see! (I might get too distracted by Animal Crossing. . .)
> 
> In the meantime, I hope everyone is fine and healthy. Times are crazy, but hopefully the coronavirus pandemic isn’t long-lasting.

“Honestly, Claude. You didn’t have to do this,” Ignatz said. Still, the wide grin on his face said otherwise. His hands ran over the edge of the silver bow in his hands. “This is way too nice of a gift. Just look at the craftsmanship!”

“It’s the least I can do. I’m sure I’ve missed a birthday or two over the years, so consider this an all-in-one.”

“It’s still too much, Claude.”

“Does that mean you don’t want your second present?”

Ignatz’s eyes widened.

“It’s not as grand, I promise.” Smiling, Claude brought forward the large bundle of feathers he had collected. “I gathered enough that you can use the larger ones for quills and the rest as fletching for arrows. I know you were getting low.”

“And you had time to get these. . . When?”

“I went hunting to cushion our food stores.”

Ignatz smiled and rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe you. Some of these feathers are too pretty to come from native fowl.”

“Can I be allowed to treat my friends well on their birthdays? Please?”

Ignatz sighed. “Thank you,” he finally said.

Claude’s grin widened. “That’s all I wanted to hear. If it makes you feel better, you can consider the feathers a small thank you for playing messenger for me.”

“It was nothing, really,” Ignatz said. “Help me get this stuff to my room, and I’ll find where I put the reply from your retainer.” He picked up most of his belongings while Claude gathered the bow and feathers, then the pair started walking. “I was actually happy to go to Derdriu. It gave me a chance to see my family for an evening, since this is the time of year they’re in the capital. And I got to see Maya, also.”

“Raph’s Maya?”

Ignatz shot him a look. “Yes, Raphael’s sister Maya.”

There was something too careful about the way he replied. “Last I checked the Kirsten’s didn’t trade in Derdriu around this time.”

Ignatz’s face flushed. “I may or may not have taken a slightly longer route home to check up on her on the way back.”

”Interesting.”

”Raphael asked. He was worried about her.”

”Raph is always worried about her. That’s a brother’s job.”

”You say that like you know from experience.”

”Well, Hilda is certainly annoying enough to be my sister.”

Ignatz laughed. “I won’t argue with that.”

They had reached Ignatz’s room. He shifted the bundle in his arms and nudged the door open with his shoulder. After he stepped into the room, he dropped his pack on the bed and opened the drawstrings. Claude set down the gifts on the windowsill while Ignatz dug through his belongings. “A-ha.” Ignatz pulled out a slightly crinkled letter and handed it to Claude. “Here’s the letter from your retainer.” He made a face. “Quite an interesting guy. Not like most other noble’s retainers I’ve met.”

“I’m well aware,” Claude said. “But I trust him with my life.” He took the letter from Ignatz’s hand.

“How did you meet him, again?”

“He knew my father,” Claude replied.

“Huh,” Ignatz said. Like the rest of Claude’s old classmates, he had given up trying to figure out Claude’s past years ago. He pushed the matter no further. “Well, I have to unpack, and I’m sure you have better things to do then chat with me all day.”

“Sadly, yes,” Claude sighed. “But I’m glad you like the bow. And hopefully you can go through the feathers soon.”

“I will certainly find the time.” Ignatz smiled. “Thank you. Again.”

With a grin and a wave, Claude started to walk out the door. “Happy birthday!”

The sky was blue and clear. More than it had been in ages. Many of the knights and foot soldiers were spending their free time outdoors to enjoy the good weather while it lasted. It made Garreg Mach seem more lively. The most lively it would be for a while yet. As he walked toward his room, Claude briefly looked down at the letter in his hands, his name scribbled in Nader’s hasty hand. If the letter said what Claude suspected, then Garreg Mach would be emptied in a manner of months, possibly weeks. If Nader had agreed to his plans, that was how long Claude expected it would take to secure a decent-sized army to finally march across the Alliance and into Adrestian territory.

But they would need to do something big first. . .

Claude halted in his steps, looking out towards the pond that rested between the monastery’s greenhouse and marketplace. He could just make out Ashe, sitting on the edge of the dock with a fishing pole in his hands. Folding his arms, Claude watched him for a moment.

It was taking a while for Ashe to adjust. Despite knowing the other academy alumni who had joined Claude and Byleth’s growing army, he was distinct in the way that he had not been a student under Byleth like the rest of them. He could often be seen with his shoulders hunched over, eyes shifting nervously from side to side as if he was worried about being caught doing something wrong. Still, everyone did their best to be warm and welcoming towards him. Especially Marianne. Claude wondered if it was because she knew him best, due to her previous relationship with Dimitri. Though it was always possible that Marianne was just that kind.

A trait that Claude envied. 

If Ashe was not with Marianne, he could be found at the fishing pond, as he was in that moment. Sometimes he was by himself, other times he would be accompanied by Flayn or Linhardt. Whether he preferred the company or the solitude more was a mystery in Claude’s eyes.

“Is there a reason you’ve been watching Ashe for the last several minutes?” Byleth wondered, walking up to stand next to Claude.

Claude chuckled. “Not particularly,” he admitted. “I’ve just been wondering how he’s doing. I invited him to the war meeting tomorrow morning, but I don’t know if he’ll show up or not.”

Byleth casually shrugged. “He may just need time.”

“But you really think he’s on our side?”

“I _know_ he is. Have some faith in him.”

Claude huffed. “Faith was never really my strong suit.”

“Are you allowed to say that in front of the living embodiment of a goddess?” Byleth’s eyes crinkled.

Claude smiled back with a playful roll of his eyes. “Don’t you have some legendary knight to best in a duel or something?”

“No, I did that this morning,” Byleth replied in a teasing tone. “I just finished dropping off some flowers for Ignatz’s birthday.”

“Ah. I bet he appreciated that.”

“I hope so,” Byleth hummed. “I’m trying to keep up with everyone as best as possible. I would hate to miss another friend’s birthday.” She looked down at the letter in Claude’s hand. “What’s that?”

“I just received word back from my retainer,” Claude told her.

“Ah, the mysterious and sexy Nardel?” Byleth teased. Claude dramatically rolled his eyes.

“Judith certainly has an unique taste in men, that’s for damn sure.”

“I think it’s sweet that your patron noble has a crush on your retainer.”

“Call it what you will,” Claude sighed, turning the letter over in his hands. “I should get back to my room to read this.”

“You know, staying inside as much as you do is bad for your health,” Byleth said. “Come on. Take a break from your running around and come have lunch with me.”

“Not yet,” Claude said. “I really need to respond to Nardel. He’s supposed to help me figure out how—“

Byleth plucked the letter from his hand and waved it in the air. “You can read it over lunch,” she said, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t seen you eat since the night of the feast. And I’m fairly certain you threw half of it up the next morning. You need to eat.”

Despite the flush to his face, Claude laughed. “I suppose an hour delay won’t kill me,” he said. As far as he knew, Byleth had no memory of him passing out in her room that night. That, or she was ignoring it just as he was. And all things considered, Claude was okay with that being the case. He still was fuzzy on the details of what had even happened. There was a vague sense that they talked for a bit, but the subject matter escaped Claude’s memory.

Byleth beamed up at him, then led the way out to the mess hall. It was late in the afternoon, so the tables were mostly empty. They sat across from each other, and only after Claude had started eating did Byleth give him the letter back. “Anything juicy?”

“Just advice on battle strategy,” Claude replied between mouthfuls of bread. “You’ll hear about most of it tomorrow.”

“So, nothing about Judith?” Byleth teased, and Claude chuckled.

“I did ask him how meeting her went, and he didn’t reply. Knowing him, that means he liked her. Or they got in a sparring match and she kicked his ass.”

Byleth laughed. “I could see that happening. She certainly made me work for my win when we sparred the other day.” Claude smirked at the statement. He watched Byleth hum happily to herself as she continued eating her food, a small smile on her lips the whole while. Claude wondered what it was that had her in such a good mood. Yet, before he could ask, Leonie approached them and sat down beside Byleth, looping her arm through the other woman’s.

“Hey guys!” she beamed. “Anything exciting happening?”

“Claude got a letter,” Byleth told her.

Leonie swiped a vegetable from Claude’s plate and popped in her mouth, scrunching up her face when Claude stuck his tongue out at her. “Secret girlfriend?”

“My retainer,” Claude answered. Byleth looked up at him then chuckled under her breath.

“What about? Everything okay in Derdriu?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re just going over some plans for our little army’s next step.”

“Oh, so the sovereign duke _does_ have a plan in place beyond the monastery walls,” Leonie teased. She tried to swipe another vegetable from Claude’s plate, and he playfully slapped her hand away.

“Get your own!” he laughed.

“Here, take mine. I’m done eating,” Byleth said, scooting her plate towards Leonie.

Claude shot her a look. “Don’t encourage her! Leonie’s been stealing food off my plate since we were back at the academy.” His glare shifted to Leonie. “And it’s _rude_!”

“I just don’t like waiting in line,” Leonie complained, starting to pick off of Byleth’s plate. “And you should be grateful. I would have taken more of your food, but I think your ex thought I was flirting with you. She always gave me a look when I did it.”

“Nah, Pet wasn’t the jealous type,” Claude said.

Leonie raised her eyebrows, but said nothing to contradict him as she continued eating. “Anyway, what’s the plan, then? I hope you’re not going to rain fire over our heads again. I’m pretty sure I still have smoke in my lungs from last time.”

“Ha-ha,” Claude said sarcastically. “But no, I don’t intend on lighting anything on fire.” He carefully folded up Nader’s letter as he spoke, catching that Leonie was trying to peer over the edge of the paper to read its contents. He didn’t want to have to explain to her why the words inside the letter were written in Almyran. “Do you remember Myrddin Bridge? We crossed over it to get to Gronder Field for the Battle of Eagle and Lion.”

Byleth made a face at the mention of Gronder Field.

“Vaguely,” Leonie replied between bites of food.

“It’s right on the edge of the Empire and House Gloucester territory, and it’s the only bridge big enough for an entire army to cross between the Alliance and Empire borders.” Leonie stopped eating, her eyes widening along with Byleth’s. Claude suspected both women were catching onto where he was going with that statement. “I want to use the help of Judith’s men to take the bridge. Once that happens, we can better assure the safety of the Alliance citizens, and convince some of the nobles to send us more men and women to fight without worrying about direct retaliation from the Empire.”

Byleth made a face at him. “You said the bridge is on Count Gloucester territory though?”

“Uh-huh,” Claude said flatly.

“As in, Lorenz’s father, Count Gloucester?”

Claude raised his eyebrows. “Unless there’s another pale-assed noble named Count Gloucester that I’m aware of, yes.”

Leonie snickered.

“I thought he was openly supporting Adrestia,” Byleth said carefully.

Claude nodded.

“How do you expect to march an army through his lands without instigating a fight?”

Claude raised his letter lazily, then lowered it again. “That’s where Nardel comes in. He’ll give a distraction while we sneak in along the border.”

“Count Gloucester keeps pretty tight patrols, though,” Leonie added in. “My village is near his lands. The crime rates were always really low because of him.”

“I’m well aware,” Claude said, a hint of a smile about to break his natural mask.

Leonie narrowed her eyes. “You’ll need to know the terrain and the rotation of the patrol to get through.”

“And isn’t it oh-so lucky that we know a guy who has an intimate knowledge of both of those topics?”

Leonie snorted. “Lorenz will never tell you. Not if it meant crossing his father.”

“He might with a little persuasion.”

“And you expect that you can persuade him, how?”

Claude’s smile grew wider. “I’m not going to be doing any of the persuading.”

Byleth tilted her head, brow furrowed. Leonie, who was a little quicker, started shaking her shoulders with laughter, covering her mouth to stifle the sound. “Oh, you are an asshole,” she snickered.

“I’m missing something,” Byleth said.

“Yes,” Leonie laughed.

“It’s not that funny,” Claude pointed out.

“It kind of is, though.”

“Will someone let me in on the joke?”

Claude glanced at Byleth. “I’m going to ask Hilda to convince Lorenz to give me the information.”

Byleth tilted her head. “Okay, so there _is_ something going on between them, then? I’ve noticed they’ve been acting weird around each other lately. Are they dating?”

“No, but I think they’re sleeping together,” Leonie replied matter-of-factly. “Not that either of them will admit it.” She eyed Claude. “Odd, considering how dramatic the two of them are.”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I know just as much as you do,” Claude said. That was mostly true. He had seen Hilda walk out of Lorenz’s room the night of the feast, meaning he was the only one with concrete proof that something _had_ happened between them at least once. But he had technically said he wouldn’t say anything about running into Hilda that morning if she didn’t bring it up, either.

And Claude had more than enough reason to hold up his end of the bargain.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your devious scheming, then,” Leonie sighed. Byleth’s plate was practically cleaned. “I don’t want to be around when you and Hilda get into it.” She winked at Claude and gave Byleth a quick hug, then sauntered away.

Byleth raised an eyebrow at Claude. “Are Hilda and Lorenz really sleeping together?”

Claude made a face at her. “They slept together once, as far as I know,” he said carefully, quietly. “I don’t know if they continued after that, but they’ve been talking alone an awful lot more lately.” He chuckled. “And Hilda’s been fairly touchy on the subject.”

“You mean she hasn’t even admitted it to you?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re going to make her rattle what is potentially a fragile relationship?”

“I’m going to ask her for a favor, and she is more than welcome to help me or not,” Claude replied. “I have a back up plan, I’d just rather not use it. More work for me.”

Byleth shook her head. “You’re going to be nice when you talk to her, right?” she asked.

“I’m _always_ nice to Hilda.”

Byleth chuckled. “That’ll be the day.” She slowly reached her hand towards Claude’s plate, and he scooted it towards her, letting her pick up whatever she was reaching for.

“You should have told Leonie no.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Byleth said, tearing off a piece of Claude’s bread.

“Because you intended on stealing off of my plate instead?”

Byleth’s eyes crinkled. “I knew you were clever.” She pushed the plate back towards him.

“You can keep eating, if you want.”

“Oh, no. I just wanted to see if you would swat my hand away like you did Leonie’s.”

“Ah, so it was a test, then?”

Byleth nodded, a smile creeping onto her face.

“Did I pass or fail?”

“That’s for me to know, and me alone.”

“Then I will pretend to be nervous,” Claude laughed, his heart fluttering. It would not be hard to pretend. He stood up and stretched his arms. “Want to come with me to find Hilda?”

“No,” Byleth said quickly. “I will let you handle that on your own. You’re playing with too much fire for my liking.”

“That seems to be a habit of mine.” He winked at her, then turned towards the door. “Tea later?”

Byleth shrugged. “If your not dead.”

“Not funny!” Claude called over his shoulder. He headed out towards the monastery gardens. Hilda had taken to caring for the flowers now that the weather was getting warmer. She would never admit it, of course. She had a reputation to uphold. And showing any signs of work would ruin that reputation. But more often than not, if Claude wanted to find her, that was where he would go first. “Hey, Hils,” he called as he approached her.

Hilda hardly acknowledged him, tenderly lifting up a flower bud with the tips of her fingers. “These hedges should really be covered at night,” she hummed. “It’s still too cold for the petals, and the pretty blossoms would be good for morale, I think. Give some life back to Garreg Mach.” She glanced up at Claude. “Think you can do anything about that, Leader Man?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Claude replied. “In the meantime, I need you to do me a favor.”

Hilda smiled, amischievous gleam in her eye. “A fun favor?”

“Maybe,” Claude said. “It has to do with our next mission.”

“So, not fun.”

“Okay, fine. Not fun. I just got a letter from my retainer. We have to cross through Gloucester territory to—“

“No,” Hilda said flatly. She turned back to the wilting flower buds.

“Hils,” Claude whined.

“_No_,” Hilda said again. “I’m not asking anything from him. Not even for you. Go ask him yourself.”

“Why not? Isn’t it just a friend asking a friend for something?” Claude asked innocently.

Hilda huffed. “What happened the night of the feast?”

Claude’s brow lowered. “We agreed not to bring that up.”

“_You’re_ bringing it up.”

“Correction. I was very pointedly not bringing it up.”

“And by not bringing it up, you were still, in fact, bringing it up,” Hilda said. “I wasn’t the only one who didn’t fall asleep in my own room that night,” she sang quietly. When Claude stammered, a sly grin crept up on her face.

“I already told you, nothing happened,” he growled.

“If that’s all you’re going to say, you can ask Lorenz whatever you need to know by yourself.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” 

“Then why are you so embarrassed?” Hilda wondered. Her grin was a little wider. “If nothing happened, then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I asked Byleth—“

“I don’t remember,” Claude said quickly. Hilda raised her eyebrows, and Claude could feel his face growing hot. “Okay? You happy? I don’t remember what happened that night. None of it. I remember you asking me to dance with you, and I remember waking up the next morning in her bed.” His words were coming out quickly, and he kept glancing around in case anyone happened to walk by. Gods, he would never hear the end of it if word got out. “Nobody was undressed, we weren’t even spooning. I high-tailed it out of there the second I woke up. That’s all I know. Byleth hasn’t mentioned it, so I’m assuming she doesn’t remember anything, either.”

“And you’re not going to ask?” Hilda asked. Her expression was far more satisfied than Claude wanted. He groaned at her.

“Hell no!” he hissed. He looked around again. “Not when things are finally starting to feel normal between she and I again. I can’t shake that up.”

“But it’s okay to shake up my messy relationship?”

“That’s different. _You_ had sex with Lorenz, it’s not my fault you two haven’t figured out how to behave around each other after.”

“I never said Lorenz and I had sex.”

“Then it shouldn’t be weird to ask him, as your friend, to help you out.”

Hilda shrugged. Her eyes lazily drifted back to the hedges. “And you swear nothing happened between you and Byleth?”

“Hils, I almost wish something had happened between me and Byleth just so you would stop hanging it over my head.”

Hilda laughed at that. “Thank you,” she said. “I think now I’ll actually believe you.”

“You’re a real thorn in my side, you know that?”

“And here I thought that was why you love me?” With a smile, she tapped her cheek twice with her forefinger. Claude rolled his eyes and chuckled, bending down to kiss her there.

“It is why I love you,” he said. Then, teasingly, he added, “Everyone else makes it too easy for me to get what I want.”

“They’re all easily swayed by your pretty face.”

Claude shrugged. “I can’t help that I’m so roguishly handsome.”

“Now if only a certain green-haired mercenary would notice.”

Claude shot her a look.

Hilda giggled. “I should probably tell you, in the name of honesty amongst friends, that Lorenz and I are talking about getting together again.”

“Oh, so there is some talking going on behind closed doors?”

Hilda made a face at him. “Do you want me to ask him for something for you or not?”

“And I suppose my father is just supposed to ignore an army marching across his land?” Lorenz questioned.

“Certainly not,” Claude replied confidently. The other war meeting attendees watched him expectantly. “He’ll be too busy dealing with the other army.”

Lorenz went pale as a ghost. Apparently Hilda had not given all of the details during her “conversation” with him. Though frankly, Claude would be a little impressed if they had talked at all. “I already hate where this is going.”

“Judith and I have already talked this over,” Claude began. “We’re going to have my retainer move her some of her personal forces combined with mine across the north side of your father’s land to draw his attention. Once he mobilizes his army, we are going to sneak through the south side of the territory and move directly towards Myrddin bridge. By the time your father realizes what’s happened, we’ll have taken it over from the Empire, and he will no longer have to fear their retaliation.”

Lorenz raised his eyebrows. “And what makes you think I won’t tell my father about this ahead of time?”

Claude expected that question. “Because you’re more independent than you let on, and you want this war to end as much of the rest of us.”

Lorenz looked to Hilda, who nodded encouragingly. Okay, so _some_ sort of conversation had happened between them. “Fine,” Lorenz sighed. “I won’t tell him anything.”

“And are you willing to give us details on the terrain so we can best avoid any guards left behind?”

Lorenz rolled his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I can assist our little resistance in that way.”

Claude smiled. “That would be appreciated.”

Seteth, from the other side of the table, cleared his throat. “And what is the plan after we take the bridge?”

Claude turned towards him. “There are two halves to the plan. Politically, we need to garnish more favor with the Alliance nobles.” Claude gestured to Judith who was watching him with an amused grin. “With Lady Daphnel on our side, we have already begun this process. Securing the bridge will only make it more appealing to create a united front against the Empire.” Claude ran a hand through his hair. “The second part, is we can no longer afford to be on the defensive. Edelgard knows that we are forming an army, meaning we have lost the element of surprise. Time is no longer on our side. She had greater numbers and can wait us out longer. I say we strike hard, and fast, taking out strongholds deeper and deeper into the Empire until we can directly attack the capital city.” Claude paused for dramatic effect, enjoying the way everyone—even Seteth—leaned in closer. Good. He had their attention. “The end goal is to apprehend the emperor as soon as possible. We are not interested in conquest, so we have no reason to move in any direction but a straight line. And hopefully, we will find Rhea along the way.”

Seteth’s expression changed at the sound of Rhea’s name. With a furrowed brow, he uttered, “Has it really been confirmed that she is in the Empire?”

“One of my men saw her being taken away by Imperial soldiers five years ago with his own two eyes,” Judith told him. “During the attack of Garreg Mach.”

“And you can trust that he was telling the truth?” Seteth asked. Judith frowned at him.

“I trust my men,” she said tersely.

Seteth cleared his throat, then re-occupied himself with the papers in front of him.

Claude looked around the room. “Anybody have any objections?” The majority shook her head, the exception being Lysithea, who sat in her chair with her arms folded across her torso. “Sithee?” Claude asked.

Lysithea looked up, as if waking up from a dream, then shook her head. “Yeah, I’m with you,” she muttered. Claude raised an eyebrow at her, but she said no more.

After moments of silence, Seteth cleared his throat. “Then it’s settled,” he said. “We follow Claude’s plan, attack the Empire and search for Rhea.” He placed his hands on the table and looked directly at Claude. “So let’s move on to the finer details.”

Everyone was on high alert the day they marched for the Myrddin Bridge. Though they had fought together in a large battle before, this felt different. The battle at Garreg Mach could be shrugged off as an act of defense. The confrontation at Aillel, an unfortunate meeting between armies. But this?

This was clearly, definitively, finally, an act of war.

Some of the soldiers were afraid. It was clear by the way their gazes shifted, and they continuously regrouped their weapons as they marched. But not Claude. He was ready. Ready to face Edelgard, to stop the fighting. Ready to have peace again.

“Gold coin for your thoughts?” Byleth asked.

Claude grinned at her. “I’m looking forward to this victory, Teach,” he told her. “After five long years of sitting on my hands. . . This will be our first step towards wrapping up this war.”

Byleth hummed in response. “Are you sure your comfortable leaving the command to me?” she asked him. Claude shrugged.

“It’s like you’ve said before, you have the most battle experience,” he murmured. “That, and well, if we run into any unexpected issues, I trust you to change the plan so those issues are less. . . Unexpected.”

Byleth chuckled, shaking her head. “I am still being used, then.”

“It’s not being used if you can leave whenever you want,” Claude said with a wink.

Byleth flushed and looked away, keeping her eyes forward. “I said I’d stay, didn’t I?”

The bridge was in view, a towering structure older than the three nations of Fódlan themselves. Claude gripped his axe tightly, his expression growing more solemn. He was confident in their victory, but he knew the battle would be hard regardless. The Empire’s hold on the bridge was paramount to their ability to intimidate the Alliance into submission. They would not let go of it easily.

All the more reason to go all out.

Empire soldiers met them just before the base of the bridge, weapons poised as they stood in an armored line to block their passage. It was only one man deep, hardly intimidating to a force of hundreds. “We all must break through the line and strike at their commander,” Byleth shouted, unsheathing the Sword of the Creator and raising it in the air. “The rest are more likely to submit once she has been taken out!” With a battle cry, she charged forward. Claude followed closely, guarding her back as she and their army’s front line collided with the soldiers defending the bridge.

Breaking through the first line was easy. It was moving forward beyond that which was difficult. There was a stronghold in the middle of the bridge, where soldiers endlessly marched forward to slow the movement of Byleth’s army. Byleth commanded a group to keep the doorways blocked, which allowed a majority of the other Knights of Seiros and Alliance soldiers to pass by. However, Claude found himself cursing profusely when he saw the masked demonic beast just beyond the stronghold.

“Does it always have to be fucking masks?” he growled, more to himself than anyone around him. Beside him, Byleth gritted her teeth as she thrusted her blade into the black monster’s shoulder.

“You would think we had enough of them five years ago,” Byleth agreed. As the surrounding men and women helped take the beast down, Claude heard Byleth start cursing to herself. “We have a problem,” she called over her shoulder, pointing towards the far end of the bridge. “There’s two commanders.”

Claude looked up in the direction Byleth was pointing, and he understood the issue. Just ahead was Ladislava, one of Edelgard’s most trusted commanders, and the one Claude had expected to see on the bridge. Beside her was a red-haired man on a horse, one who Claude recognized immediately. “It’s Ferdinand,” Claude said. Byleth nodded, tightening the grip on her hilt.

“We got Ashe to join us,” Byleth reminded him. “Think we could do the same thing with him?”

Claude smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

Ferdinand followed numbly behind Claude, Ladislava’s blood across his armor. Claude pat the man reassuringly on the back as they walked toward the rest of the Alliance soldiers. “Ferdie?” Caspar gasped as he saw them. He dropped his weapon and ran towards the man. “It’s been years! Who thought we would run into you here of all places?”

“‘Run into’ is a nice way to say ‘faced me on the battlefield’,” Ferdinand half-laughed. He looked down at his boots. “I suppose it’s only thanks to the professor that I was spared my life. . .”

“Hey now,” Caspar beamed. “You’re on the right side of the war now! Fuck the Empire! Now let’s get going back to the monastery so we can get some rest!”

“We need to assess our casualties and decide who is staying to hold the bridge first,” Byleth said. “Do you know where the healers set themselves up?”

“I think by the base of the bridge, on the Alliance side,” Caspar replied.

“Let’s go, then,” Byleth said to Claude. She briefly turned back to Caspar and Ferdinand. “Will you two stay here or join us?”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Ferdinand began. “I’d like to sit for a moment.” He half smiled again. “I think I need a moment to—umm, process the day’s events.”

Byleth smiled at him and touched his arm. “Take as much time as you need,” she said. “We are glad to have you here.” When she turned towards the medical tents, Claude fell in step with her.

“Could you imagine how hilarious it would be if we ran into every old academy student and recruited them into our army?” he asked. Byleth chuckled. “Maybe not all of them. I never really liked Hubert.”

“I don’t think war works that way,” Byleth told him.

“Well, when was the last time a war was fought against a time traveling goddess? Anything is possible with you around, Teach,” Claude teased.

Byleth side-eyed him. “I think you have a little too much faith in me.”

“And I think you should have a little more faith in yourself.”

They entered the medical tent, and the smiles on their faces dropped. The stench of death clung to the air. Claude coughed, shocked by how many bodies he saw laying on the ground with white sheets covering them. “What happened. . .” he murmured. “It seemed like the battle went too quick for this many casualties. . .”

“It was a pincher move,” a small voice said. Claude and Byleth looked down at Lysithea, who was sitting curled up on the ground, eyes blankly staring forward. “Lord Acheron betrayed us. Ladislava must have sent word to him when she saw us coming. He attacked us from the rear and we barely had the chance to react before the back side was slaughtered. It was mostly us mages, so we had no way of defending ourselves. . .” Claude knelt down, and Lysithea’s eyes watered. “Cyril knocked me out of the way of an attack and took the hit himself,” she shuddered. “I tried to save him, but the arm was cut clean off. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I couldn’t—I—“ She buried her face in her knees and sobbed quietly. Claude silently looked up at Byleth, who nodded her head understandingly.

“Put more guards in the back, then you and I will rush ahead for Ferdinand?” she whispered.

Claude shook his head. “No, I’ll stay back. Take Lorenz with you. They were friends before, I think. And his aim is true. He will keep you safe.”

Lysithea looked up slowly, eyes darting back and forth between her old professor and house leader. “What are you two talking about?” she uttered. Then, her eyes widened. “You’re going to do that. . . That thing? Where you do this all over again?”

Claude turned to her, smiling reassuringly. Byleth beside him had a look of concentration on her face. “Yes, Teach is going to bring Cyril back, and we’ll keep this from ever happening. It’ll all be okay.”

Lysithea’s eyes filled with horror and determination. “Claude!” she said hurriedly. “Before you go, I saw her with the soldiers! I

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edE was I. Sreidlos ehthtiwre—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I’m not sure who has seen it yet, but CLAUDE HAS A CANON ALMYRAN NAME NOW. I was casually ignoring that his mother got named in the DLC, but now that Claude has also been named. . . I’m going to have to go back and make some edits. That will probably get done later this week. I won’t put the name here in case anyone wants to go look it up themselves, but his Almyran name will be brought up again in the next couple of chapters. Thank you @dar-draws for making sure I saw this news on Tumblr!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth fight to take Myrddin Bridge for a second time, but with one or two major changes.

“The fastest of us will break through the line and strike at their commander,” Byleth shouted, unsheathing the Sword of the Creator and raising it in the air. “The rest you, stay behind and guard the mages. There’s no telling if reinforcements will come in from behind. Lorenz, you follow me!” With a battle cry, she charged forward.

Claude called to her, but she was already too far ahead to hear him. Claude growled, but he did not go after her. The line of soldiers was too thick for him to get through.

Lysithea. . . Before the battle had been restarted, she was about to tell him something.

Did she see Edelgard?

Was she there, at the battle?

If that was the case, Claude needed to be on high alert. That was one woman who Claude could not afford to let escape.

Hilda quickly rushed to his side, axe poised as they stood between the mages and whatever threat could potentially come from behind. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” Hilda muttered, flexing her fingers around her axe’s handle.

“We are redoing the battle,” Claude murmured back. Hilda looked confused for a moment, then her eyes shot forward to where Lorenz and Byleth had left, her fingers curling tighter around her weapon. “No!” Claude said, placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her from running after them. “They’re fine. I need you back here with me.”

“Why?” Hilda demanded.

“Because an ambush is coming soon.”

Hilda looked forward again, a longing on her face, but with a grunt, she nodded her head. “He’ll be safe in Byleth’s hands.”

Claude nodded in reply.

“Who is the ambush coming from?”

“No idea yet.”

“That’s rather helpful.”

“Hang on, I’m thinking!” The battle had hardly lasted more than an hour last time. He needed to be quick. “What nobles live nearby that have sided with Adrestia?” Claude asked. He doubted it was Gloucester. Even if he had been alerted to the movements of their army, his home was positioned on the far side of his land. He would not have been able to meet them so quickly. And Claude doubted he would be eager to attack his own son.

Nor did he seem the type to slaughter mages so readily.

“Could be Acheron?” Hilda suggested.

Claude looked over at her. “Weathervane? The slimy guy with the mustache? And the hair?”

“He lives only a mile or so north of here. And I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a social climber if I ever met one.” Her lip curled into a snarl. “Aiding Edelgard’s army doesn’t seem below him.”

“True,” Claude grunted. Acheron was a nuisance even within the Alliance. One of the only congenial conversations Claude had ever had with Lorenz’s father was over their mutual distaste for the man. And if he was going to support the Empire, attack Claude’s friends, even get some killed. . .

Claude saw no reason to hold back.

“Do any of our nearby friends have their horses still with them?” he asked. Byleth had told the fastest units to charge ahead, but many of the horse riders still had stayed behind. Claude wondered if the animals did not do well on bridges, even ones as large as Myrddin. Regardless, it was to his advantage. If it was indeed Acheron who was going to attack them from behind, Claude would need to split the weasel’s focus.

Hilda shot him a sidelong look, then pointed out to Claude’s right.

Only a handful of paces away, Claude could make out Leonie, lance in hand, on the back of a shaggy brown horse. “I’ll be right back,” Claude said. He took off running towards Leonie, glancing out towards the open field behind them every other step. No enemy yet, no pincer attack. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming. “Leonie!” Claude called.

Leonie looked down at him with an inquisitive expression. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why were some of us ordered to stay behind?”

“No time to explain,” Claude told her. “Do you have a bow with you?”

“Of course I do,” Leonie scoffed. “I’m a huntress, aren’t I?”

“And how comfortable are you with shooting flaming arrows?”

Leonie’s eyes narrowed. “You said no more fire,” she reminded him, annoyance thick in her tone.

“I know, I know,” Claude said hastily. “There’s been a change of plans. And I swear, all fire will be at a distance.”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Are we setting the forest on fire, or something?”

“Not quite,” Claude said. He pointed northward. “There’s a castle about a mile north of here. I need you to ride there, avoiding the main road as much as possible. We have intel that the noble there might be marching his army our way to stop us from taking the bridge. If this intel is correct. . .” Claude grinned wickedly. “I would appreciate it if you gave him a reminder of why one should never face a schemer in battle.”

Leonie looked down at the quiver of arrows attached to her saddle. “Light the castle on fire, then get the hell out of there?” she confirmed.

“Only if you’re certain he’s the one coming to fight us,” Claude added. No sense in provoking the man otherwise.

Leonie flashed him a smile. “As long as I don’t get anymore smoke in my lungs. If I do, you owe me an ale.” She rode towards a small group of bow knights and spoke hastily to them. When she turned her horse north, three of them rode with her toward Acheron’s castle.

The rest would be a waiting game.

So, Claude returned to Hilda’s side. Slowly, the pair marched toward Myrddin with their backs facing those of the mages they were determined to protect. The line of defense was small, but it was enough that the mages could be alerted whenever the secondary army arrived, preventing the slaughter that happened last time they fought this battle. Still, Claude was anxious. Especially when he caught sight of Lysithea launching great balls of light far into the distance with Cyril by her side.

_“I tried to save him, but the arm was cut clean off. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I couldn’t—I—“_

Claude wouldn’t let that happen again.

Sure enough, not twenty minutes later a second army approached them, bearing Acheron’s banner. “There,” Hilda growled, pointing out the thin blond figure riding in the center of several armored knights. 

Claude readjusted the grip of the axe in his hands as he called out to the mages just behind him. “Attack from behind!” he shouted. “Change the direction of your fire!” Then, he charged forward to meet the other army head-on. He was directly in front of Acheron, and even with his armored guard, Claude did not doubt Acheron would fall by his hands. His army was small, far smaller than the church’s forces. The only advantage they had before was the element of surprise.

And they did not have that now.

But still, it was not Acheron who Claude desired to cross blades with. The foe he longed to face was Edelgard. He was certain he had heard Lysithea correctly. Meaning somewhere behind the line of men marching toward him, he would find her. And he was ready to face her.

Above Claude’s head, balls of fire and orbs of both light and dark energy flew overhead, colliding in loud bursts with Acheron’s front lines. Acheron dove to the ground, cowering in the dirt as his more-experienced men continued their march forward. As Claude fought them off, he searched for the white-haired emperor, and grew more enraged and confused the longer he did not find her. Several long, agonizing minutes passed, with Claude covered in sweat and the blood of his enemies. He did not see Edelgard anywhere. But at least he caught glimpses of smoke in the distance, coming from the direction of Acheron’s castle.

Good. Leonie had gotten there in time.

Acheron’s soldiers started noticing, too, growing more and more distracted by the smoke and becoming significantly easier to take down because of it. Then another volley of magic attacks flew overhead, with Claude just a little too close to the blasts. He flew backward from the force, with the wind being knocked out of him. He coughed, attempting to stand, but the light of the sun was amply blocked out by Acheron’s atrocious haircut as he leered over him.

“The declining Alliance will be finished if I kill you,” Acheron sneered, placing a foot on Claude’s chest.

“Only if you manage to kill me,” Claude scoffed. Acheron lowered his sword to Claude’s throat, and Claude found he wasn’t particularly fond of the view. He looked out towards Acheron’s castle and widened his eyes, pretending to be surprised. “Hm? What’s that to the north?”

Acheron followed Claude’s gaze, and his jaw dropped. “That’s—thats my castle!” he stammered.

When he stumbled backwards, Claude kicked sideways to swipe Acheron’s legs out from under him. The coward was swiftly on his back. Claude retrieved his concealed knife and lunged for the weak man, slitting his throat before he had the time to recover. _That’s the “declining Alliance” at work right there_, Claude thought bitterly, watching the life leave Acheron’s body for good. He slowly stood up, panting, then looked around for his axe. Acheron’s men had all either fled or been defeated by the time his weapon was retrieved, and the area was decidedly silent. The only remaining sounds of battle were on the far side of the bridge.

Where Byleth was fighting.

Claude stumbled forward, searching the bodies strewn across the field, hoping to catch a glimpse of white hair. But there was none.

“What seems to be the problem?” Hilda panted as she approached him. She wiped sweat from her brow, then groaned. “We stopped the pincer attack. Acheron is dead, by the look of things. Why do you still look concerned?”

“I just thought I would see. . .” Claude sighed. Something was not sitting right with him. Had he imagined that Lysithea was saying she saw Edelgard, or did he misunderstand her? Shouldn’t she have been with Acheron’s army, where Lysithea would have seen her?

Unless. . .

“Come on. Our work isn’t done yet.” They needed to reach Lorenz and Byleth.

They hurried forward, slaying enemies as they past, but leaving most of the fighting to the men and women who stood with them. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have forgotten?

He was not the only one who could remember when time was rewound.

When Claude crossed to the other side of the bridge, where he had seen Ferdinand the first time he faced this battle, he found Byleth and Lorenz standing over Ladislava’s body, with Ferdinand and Edelgard standing against them.

“We are not the ones who stripped your father of his lands and title,” Byleth reminded Ferdinand. Claude took a hesitant step forward. Edelgard had not noticed him yet, as her eyes were fixated on Byleth with a disbelieving look on her face. “I do not want a hierarchy built on fear. . . Is that really the future that you want for yourself?”

There was a shift in Ferdinand’s expression, but Edelgard caught it first. Ferdinand’s lance was barely raised halfway before Edelgard sunk the blade of her axe into his chest. Ferdinand coughed up blood, a look of disbelief on his face, then fell.

“No!” Claude cried, running forward. Edelgard turned to him, a determined look in her eyes. She removed her axe from her old companion’s chest and ran towards him. From the corner of his eye, Claude saw Byleth raise her hands, and he faltered. “Teach, wait!” he called, raising his own hands to stop her. Edelgard swung her axe t

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When Claude crossed to the other side of the bridge, where he had seen Ferdinand the first time he faced this battle, he found Byleth and Lorenz standing over Ladislava’s body, with Ferdinand and Edelgard standing against them.

Edelgard quickly turned to Ferdinand and drove her axe through his chest. Byleth cried out in shock. “I always knew you were a traitor,” Edelgard growled down at the redhead as he drew his last breath at her feet. Lorenz snarled, running at Edelgard with his lance raised. Byleth recovered from her shock, then moved to follow him.

Edelgard looked towards Claude, who stood in place with a disbelieving expression on his face. She smiled confidently. When Lorenz was upon her, she drew a daggerhidden from beneath her armor and moved beyond the man’s lance, pushing her knife against his throat.

“Stop!” Claude called. Byleth halted, looking back at Claude with a confused expression. Edelgard ignored her, keeping her eyes on the Alliance leader instead. She repositioned herself so she was behind Lorenz, her dagger still at his throat.

“So nice to see you again, Claude!” she called, forcing Lorenz to step backward with her.

“Yeah,” Claude said carefully. “I don’t think we’ve seen each other since Garreg Mach.” His eyes were locked onto the knife at Lorenz’s neck. “You’ve grown lovelier than ever.”

Edelgard sneered at him, taking another slow step backwards. “You’re not so unfortunate yourself.” Her gaze shifted to Byleth. “And you have the aid of the professor once more.” There was a streak of bitterness in her tone. “She’s still helping you get up to your old tricks, I see. Frankly, I’m a little jealous.”

Claude looked down at Ferdinand’s body, laying in a pool of blood, then up to Byleth. She slowly lifted a hand, and Claude subtly shook his head. When he turned back to Edelgard, she had taken several more steps away from them with Lorenz as a hostage. “Let him go,” Claude called.

“Or what?” Edelgard asked. She dug the edge of her blade into Lorenz’s neck, and the man grunted. Claude heard Hilda yelp behind him, accompanied by the sound of her weapon clanging to the ground. “You know your little trick won’t work on me. I think I’ve proven that just now. Regardless, it seems I’ve lost two good commanders because of you.” Another step back. Lorenz’s eyes were pleading. “You know, this would be a good time for you guys to leave. Save your friend, here. I don’t intend on backing down anytime soon, so you might as well surrender.”

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer,” Claude replied. It was nothing personal, but they had clearly won the battle. Still, he faltered when he heard Hilda behind him whimper.

Edelgard glared at him. “You aren’t making my path an easy one,” she growled. “Just as expected. . .” One more step backwards, the knife against Lorenz’s throat shifting. “But I won’t make your path easy, either.” She pierced the side of Lorenz’s neck and fled, leaving him gasping and bleeding between Claude and her. Hilda screeched and ran forward, catching Lorenz just before he fell.

“Lorenz?” she gasped, pushing his hair out the way. “Baby, come on. Stay with me. Stay with me you pompous _son of a bitch_. Lorenz. Lorenz!”

“Let me see,” Byleth urged, kneeling beside the couple. Lorenz coughed, and blood spewed from his lips. His chest was rapidly rising and lowering as he struggled to breathe. Claude looked up in the direction where Edelgard fled, and she was nowhere in sight. He threw his axe down and cursed. Byleth pressed her fingers to the wound on Lorenz’s neck, her hand glowing. His breathing immediately became more even, but his eyes closed regardless. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Byleth said. “But it doesn’t look like Edelgard was intending to kill him, just distract us.” She looked up at Hilda, her eyes intent. “Go find one of the healers. I’ve done what I can, but he may need more medical attention than I can give. Quickly!”

Hilda nodded numbly, but did as she told. When her footsteps were no longer audible, Claude knelt beside Byleth and the unconscious Lorenz. “I heard Lysithea tell me that she saw Edelgard when we were with her in the medical tent,” he murmured, his breath shaking, “and I expected her to stay with Acheron’s men, because—“ His hands clenched into fists. He tugged the scarf from his neck and pressed the cloth against Lorenz’s neck. “I should have remembered that Edelgard would know we had changed something. This is my fault,” he whispered. His eyes drifted back to Ferdinand’s corpse. “All of it is.”

“No,” Byleth said. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “It’s Edelgard’s. Okay? You aren’t the one who swung the axe. You aren’t the one who drove the knife into Lorenz’s throat.”

“But I could have prevented this if I had—“

“Not everything is preventable,” Byleth said, her voice surprisingly level. Claude furrowed his brow at her. Then, he thought of her father, how the two of them had tried to prevent his murder, and came back with only broken hands to show for their effort.

Some events were, indeed, inevitable.

“What does this mean for us?” Byleth asked. She and Claude looked over to Ferdinand, who stared back at them with lifeless eyes. Claude clenched his hands into fists.

“It means winning this war just got a hell of a lot harder.”

The old Garreg Mach students stayed with Lorenz all night in a spare fortress room, so he would not wake up alone when he finally became conscious again. The only exceptions were Caspar and Linhardt, who separately left at different points in the night sparingly to process their grief and anger at what had transpired between Edelgard and Ferdinand earlier that day.

“How are you holding up?” Claude had asked each of them. Neither gave much of a response, or seemed in the mood for talking. Even Hilda was uncharacteristically quiet, choosing to sit beside Lorenz with his hand in hers while everyone else chattered in whispers.

Claude glanced over at Byleth. She was slumped on a worn, wooden chair, dark circles under her eyes, bare arms covered in small cuts and bruises. Claude removed his jacket and draped it over her, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He only straightened up when Ashe sat on the other side of her. “Can I ask you something?” he whispered. Claude nodded his head. “I overheard Marianne and Linhardt just now, saying something about the prof—Byleth, I mean, being so tired because she. . . Changed things.” He frowned slightly. “I asked what they meant by that, and they said to ask you.”

Claude studied Ashe’s expression, then looked down at Byleth. She had said to have faith in Ashe, despite not knowing him as long as he knew the others, so it was probably time to start demonstrating that faith. Slowly, quickly, quietly, he summarized the extent of Byleth’s abilities to Ashe. He explained her ability to rewind time, as well as his own ability to remember when she did so.

“You mean you can remember everything?” Ashe asked.

“No,” Claude said with a low chuckle. “Not even close. I, umm. . . I remember bits and pieces. Small moments. And only when I’m around to witness the changes.”

“Why?”

Claude shrugged. “No idea.”

Ashe nodded slowly, studying Byleth’s face. “And it always wears her out? To use her gift?”

“Yeah. She told me once that the more she changes, the more she needs to sleep to recover.”

Ashe nodded again, then looked up at Claude. “You should get some rest, too. At least try to get a small nap in.” Claude started to protest, and Ashe waved his hand. “I’ll keep an eye on her.” He smiled. “Get some sleep, Claude.”

Claude tried to smile, then nodded his agreement. He settled into his spot on the window ledge and closed his eyes.

But sleep didn’t come.

Because behind his eyelids, he saw Ferdinand. Eyes blank, red hair stained redder in the pool of his own blood. Edelgard’s axe embedded in his chest. Claude feared knowing what sort of dreams could follow such an image.

So he stayed awake instead, plotting his next steps in the war.

Lorenz’s eyes fluttered open early the next morning, much to the relief of everyone in the room. Hilda offered him a single kiss on the cheek before stepping aside to let the others speak to him.

“Lorenz, I am so sorry about all of this,” Claude whispered to him. Lorenz rolled his eyes.

“I am not some damsel who needs saving, you imbecile,” Lorenz told him. His voice barely rose above a whisper, and each word seemed to strain him. “Treat me as I am: a fool who witlessly charged his enemy in search of glory.”

Claude smirked. “I see that neck wound has done nothing for your sense of humor.”

Lorenz chuckled, then appeared pained, touching his neck. When Claude opened his mouth, Lorenz waved him away. “It’s nothing,” he coughed. “I’ll be fine.” He looked around the room at the rest of their friends. “I take it we won?” he asked.

“We did,” Byleth confirmed. “Myrddin Bridge has been taken in honor of the Alliance.”

Lorenz sighed in relief. “My father will be surprised to hear it. Hopefully pleasantly so.”

“He’s more likely to be happy if he hears it from his own son,” Claude said, and Lorenz frowned up at him.

“Is that your way of saying that you’re discharging me?” Lorenz asked. “Because in a few days’ time—“

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Claude assured him. He looked around the cramped room. “I was thinking all through the night,” he began again. “We have won a great victory, but I think it would be wise to be cautious from here on out.” Byleth’s eyes bore into his. No doubt she was guessing what he would say next. “We discussed the need to unite the rest of the Alliance behind us before marching into the Empire. And that is exactly what I think we should focus on next. Judith’s soldiers and the Knights of Seiros can remain here to hold the bridge. The rest of us should go out and spread the word of our victory yesterday, recruit more soldiers and win the favor of the remaining Alliance nobles so they will provide us with more men and supplies.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And while you’re doing that, take advantage of the free time to go home. See your family and friends. Because once we start marching beyond Myrddin Bridge, odds are we won’t be traveling to and from the Alliance borders again until we win, or die.” He let the words sink into everyone’s minds. “We can meet back at Garreg Mach in a month and go from there. Does anyone have any objections to that?”

“I’ll stay here,” Ashe piped up, pulling everyone’s attention toward him. He smiled weakly. “I have no family to go back to, and no friends beyond these walls. At least here, I can put my skills as an archer to use. My only request is that everyone stays safe until I can see you again next month. I’ll meet you back at Garreg Mach.”

Claude smiled and nodded at him. Caspar spoke right after. “I’ll stay, too, for similar reasons. Linhardt?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Linhardt sighed. “Yeah, it may be useful for me to keep an eye on you. And traveling is such a chore. I guess I’ll stay.”

“Me, too,” Raphael added. Claude furrowed his brow in response.

“What about your sister?” he asked.

Raphael crossed his arms. He tried to smile, but sadness still touched his eyes.“My grandpa is taking good care of her,” he muttered. “And if I go home to see Maya. . . Well. . . I may not come back here again. And I can’t do that to you guys. I won’t abandon you.”

“If you want to write her and your grandfather letters, I can deliver them for you,” Ignatz offered. “I’ll have to pass by them anyway to get to my family.”

Raphael nodded in agreement, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly. The air in the room felt heavier at the sight. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I guess that means I’m staying, too,” Byleth said.

“No,” Claude interjected. “I actually want you to come with me to Derdriu. The more-pious nobles will be more likely to listen to Rhea’s successor than a scoundrel like me.” He smiled at her. The two of them also needed to iron out how the hell they were going to win the war now that using Byleth’s powers at her free will was no longer as advantageous of an option. The time alone in Derdriu would keep them from being distracted. “We can fly out on my wyvern later today and be there in two days’ time.”

“That works for me,” Byleth replied.

“If that settles everything, then—“

“Not quite,” Hilda said tersely, cutting him off. She had moved back to Lorenz’s side while Claude’s back was turned. Her pink eyes were shooting daggers at Claude.

“What’s wrong, Hils?”

“I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say that we trust you with our lives,” Hilda started.

“Thank you,” Claude said slowly, all too aware of how her tone and her words were saying completely different things.

“Between your schemes and Byleth’s powers, I don’t doubt that we’ve all been saved a dozen times over. Which is exactly why I would like to know what the fuck went wrong yesterday,” Hilda spat. “_Why_ did you not save Ferdinand?” The rest of the group looked back and forth between her and Claude, each of them wearing a confused expression on their faces. “I saw Edelgard swing the axe at him unprovoked, myself.” Her hands clenched into fists. “And I heard what she said to you right after. That your ‘tricks’ wouldn’t work on her, and that she had somehow proven that by killing Ferdie! But it wasn’t directed at Byleth, it was directed at _you_!” She sucked in an unstable breath. “He could have been saved. Instead his body was burned to ash and Edelgard was able to escape our grasp. And I can’t even _guess_ what it all has to do with you, but I know that you know exactly what she meant!” She seethed at her friend more with each word. “So before we step into another battle blindly, I want you to explain what the hell happened between you and her, and why I had to watch him die like that! Because I don’t think I can handle it if that happens again.”

The room went quiet. All eyes were on Claude. He took a deep breath, meeting Byleth’s eyes and only speaking after she nodded her head. “The day that she invaded Garreg Mach, Edelgard told me that she also has the ability to remember when time has been rewound.” Hilda’s glare faltered. “Due to a misunderstanding during the year at the academy, however, Edelgard has believed all these years that it is me, not Teach, who Can rewind time.” He snuck another look at Byleth, and something about the look in her eyes made his heart race. “I allowed Edelgard to believe this in order to protect her. To still protect her. Better for Edelgard to direct her fury at me, where it can do no harm.” Claude looked back to Hilda, who in turn looked to Byleth.

“But couldn’t you have still done something to save Ferdie,” Hilda pleaded. “He was our _friend_. Couldn’t we just try again? He deserved enter than this, and he—“ She clasped her hands to her mouth as she sobbed. Beside her, Lorenz stroked her arm, a sorrowful look on his face.

Byleth and Claude exchanged another look. “I convinced Ferdinand to join the Alliance, Hilda, and he turned against Edelgard. She killed him, then went after Claude. I rewound time to a moment before I even said a word to Ferdinand, and she killed him anyway. And she did it specifically to demonstrate her ability to remember the events that drove him to turn on her, even after I had erased them.”

“What does that mean for us, then?” Lysithea asked. “As your allies, as people who you have saved, who you might need to save again. . . What does that mean?”

“It means that I must be more cautious about using my ability. We cannot allow it to be used against us as this war grows deeper and deeper into enemy territory.” She looked across at the other students, who were still staring blankly. “With that being said, where I could all but guarantee your safety before, I cannot make such promises now.”

The words hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity.

”How often do you use your ability in a normal battle?” Caspar asked.

”Hardly ever,” Byleth assured him. “Aside from the battle yesterday, I have only needed it for one large incident since entering the war. Otherwise, it’s mostly used to spare someone a minor flesh wound here and there.”

Caspar nodded slowly.

“Well,” Leonie sighed. “We all knew the risks when signing up for the war, and we’ve made it out with only a few scratches and bruises so far.” She smiled sadly at Byleth. “I think we can handle a few extra precautionary measures. We don’t need to charge into every battle as hastily as we have been.”

The others expressed similar sentiments one by one. But Hilda stayed quiet. “Hils?” Claude prodded. She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of anger and worry. “What do you say?” he whispered.

Hilda kissed Lorenz’s hand. “There’s nothing to say,” she said flatly, looking up at Byleth. “Men die in wars all the time, right? Ferdinand just happened to be another unfortunate casualty. How can I be angry at you for that. . .” She rose stiffly from her chair, walking towards the door. “If I am going to go home soon to ask for more bodies to bury, I should really pack my things. . .”

Claude was checking the straps on his wyvern’s saddle when Hilda approached him, dressed in her own riding clothes. “Hils, I really am so sorry that—“

“Oh, save it,” Hilda said with a wave of her hand. “I just needed some time to collect my thoughts. It’s not every day that you watch an old friend die in front of your eyes, ya know?” Hilda sighed, crossing her arms. “Or maybe this _is_ an every day occurrence for you. Goddess knows what sort of tragedies you’ve seen undone.”

Claude pulled Hilda in for a hug. “Seeing your friends die is never not awful,” He whispered.

“Will you answer something for me? Before you leave?” Hilda asked, pulling Claude tighter.

“Sure, Hils.”

“. . . Have you seen me die?” she wondered. “I know it’s stupid to ask, because clearly I’m alive now, but. . . Goddess, it’s eating me alive.” She tried to laugh unconvincingly.

“No,” Claude said without hesitation. “I’ve seen you hurt badly, but never dead.”

“And the injury?”

“A training accident, not your fault at all.”

Hilda pulled away from his hug, wiping at her face stubbornly. “Then hopefully that says something of my chances of surviving.”

Claude ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not going to die, Hils. Whether or not she can use her gift from the goddess, I’m positive Byleth will do everything possible to keep us safe.”

“I sure as hell hope so.” Hilda smiled somberly up at him, gently prodding him in the ribs. “So,” she laughed weakly, “a month alone with Byleth, huh?”

Claude rolled his eyes. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Hilda laughed softly. She hugged her best friend one more time and kissed his cheek. “Save travels,” she said. “I’ll try to visit if I can. Goddess knows I’ll go crazy if I sit around at home for a month.”

Claude laughed. “Well, you know my door is always open.”

Hilda waved, starting to walk away. “I know,” she called.

Claude waved back, then resumed his check of the saddle straps. Byleth came by a few minutes later, her backs slung over her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay to fly?” she asked. “You don’t look like you’ve slept at all in the last twenty-four hours.”

“It’ll be fine,” Claude said, lovingly patting the wyvern’s neck. “This big boy here knows his way home, even if I’m not guiding him.” Byleth frowned, and Claude sighed in response. “But if you are _that_ worried, we can make today our shorter flying day, so I can get some rest.”

“Yes, I very much prefer that,” Byleth said. She was bundled in a thick fleece coat and a scarf, her ears covered by woolen muffs. It looked a little comical in Claude’s eyes, despite the practicality of it. The air would be much colder when they were flying. Claude almost regretted not having his own scarf handy. “Let me secure you belongings, then we can head out,” Claude offered. He didn’t want to camp in the winter nights any more than he had to.

They flew east until about an hour before the sun began to set, hardly saying a word to one another in the frigid air. At one point, Claude swore Byleth fell asleep with her face nuzzled against the furs of his coat. When he landed his wyvern, Byleth dismounted stiffly from behind him. “We need to get a fire going,” she shuddered. “I’ll go look for wood if you want to unpack.”

“Sounds good, Teach,” Claude replied, hopping off the winged beast’s back effortlessly. Byleth stared at him, a slight smile on her wind-flushed face. “What?” Claude asked with a nervous laugh.

“How can you not be sore after being on a wyvern’s back all day?” Byleth wondered.

“Riding wyverns is a lot more common the further east you go. Horses are too shaggy to stand the warm weather of my homeland.”

Byleth tilted her head. “That’s right. You used to go riding with your sister, yes?”

“Yup,” Claude replied. “That was our way of having sibling bonding time.”

Byleth’s eyes were wide with amusement. “Would you be willing to—Never mind.”

“Teach,” Claude said. “If there’s something you want to ask me, then ask me.”

Byleth’s flush deepened. “Would you be willing to teach me how to ride a wyvern?” she asked. “Dad never let me when we were mercenaries because they were too much to handle during small travels. ‘Impractical.’ I think that was the exact word he used.” She started to smile wider. “But I always liked the idea of flying. It seems very freeing.”

Claude grinned, half at her eagerness and half because her smile was contagious. “Do you want to take the reigns tomorrow?”

Byleth’s smile grew larger, albeit a bit nervous. “Is it safe?”

“I happen to be a _very_ good teacher.”

“I guess I’ll be the judge of that tomorrow,” Byleth teased. A gust of wind blew by, and they both shivered. “But first, firewood.” She turned away from Claude and walked deeper into the woods. “You better have the tent set up by the time I return!”

Claude and Byleth sat on opposite sides of the fire. The flames were low, but Claude could still just make out Byleth’s face. Her beautiful, smiling face. “Can I tell you something?” Claude asked her. Byleth grinned up at him and nodded. “There’s another reason that I wanted you to come with me to Derdriu. . . If I’m being honest, I just wanted some time alone with you, away from everyone else.” Claude ran a hand through his hair. “You see, I. . . I’m starting to get feelings for you. Actually, I’ve had them for a long time now. And I was hoping to find out if you felt the same way about me.”

Byleth said nothing. The flame drew lower, so Claude could not see her face.

“I’m sorry. I’m moving too fast aren’t I?” Claude asked. “Can we please just forget I said anything?”

Byleth made a coughing from the back of her throat, like she was gagging.

“Byleth?” Claude asked, concerned.

Byleth fell forward. Her throat was slit open and her eyes glazed over.

“Byleth!” Claude shouted.

He tried to run to her side, but he was bound by chains.

In the light of the fire stepped a pair of red boots. Claude could not make out the rest of the figure in the darkness, but he already knew their identity. “How do you intend to win, Claude?” Edelgard’s voice asked. Claude noticed an intricately carved knife in her hand, dripping red.

“Byleth!” Claude cried again.

Edelgard laughed wickedly.

“Byleth!”

She took a step forward, dagger raised.

“Byleth!”

“B_c_y_l_l_a_e_u_t_d_h_e_!_?_”

“By_claude?_leth!”

“By-_Claude_!”

“Claude!” Byleth shouted, shaking Claude’s shoulders. Claude shot up, looking around frantically. He was still repeating her name, and foolishly found himself unable to stop. His fingers, trembling violently, were digging into his palm. Byleth’s hands on his shoulders slowly loosened their grip. “Bad dream?” she asked.

Claude nodded numbly. He stubbornly wiped at his face, then inspected his hand. The nails had dug into the skin, and he was bleeding. And he wouldn’t stop shaking. “Fuck,” he muttered. He shifted up, pulling at the strap of his satchel to bring it closer, then began to dig for the bandages he always kept handy. Byleth watched silently as he wrapped up his hand.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked.

“You were killed by Edelgard,” Claude said flatly. “There’s nothing else to tell.”

“I was talking about your hand.”

Claude paused.

“I’ve seen it tremble before.”

Claude stared down at his fingers, spasming lightly, and gritted his teeth. “It’s nothing,” he said. When he tried to resume his work with the bandages, Byleth put her hand on his, then gently took the bandages and started wrapping them for him.

“I thought we agreed we were going to be more open with each other,” she said.

Claude sighed. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“How long has this been going on, then?”

“Three years?” Claude guessed. “Give or take. It’s possible it was going on for a while longer, and I just didn’t notice.” Byleth huffed in reply. “My physician thinks it’s a result of our hands getting crushed.”

Byleth froze. “How much experience does your physician have with battle?”

“None, as far as I know.”

“Hmph,” Byleth said. She resumed the bandaging in silence, expertly tying off the ends before giving Claude’s hand back to him. “It’s not from the injury,” she said, looking at the matching scars on her own hands as she did so.

“What makes you so certain?”

Byleth shot him a blank stare. “Battle experience,” she said. “I think you’re. . . stressed, for a lack of a better word. And you aren’t taking care of it, so your body is releasing the tension in any way it can.”

Claude scoffed. “By making my hand tremble?” he asked disbelievingly.

Byleth shrugged. “Better than locking up in the middle of a battlefield. If that starts happening, we’ll be in big trouble.”

“More trouble than we’re in already?”

Byleth looked at him sympathetically.

“What if she kills you, Teach?” Claude whispered. “I can’t do this if you’re dead.”

Claude could feel Byleth hesitate, then she slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and urged him to lay back down again. “Well, I’m not dead,” she said. “It was just a dream. We’re going to find a way to overcome this situation with Edelgard, and we’re going to do it together. I’m not going anywhere, remember?” Claude tried to protest, but Byleth jabbed a finger in his chest to stop him. “Not. Going. Anywhere,” she repeated sternly. She laid down next to him. “Now go to sleep, okay? No more bad dreams. Teach’s orders.”

A sound escaped Claude’s lips, and he wasn’t quite sue if it was a laugh or a sob. When his fingertips brushed against hers, Byleth grasped onto his hand tightly. Comforted by her touch, he eventually drifted to sleep again.

There were several things that Claude did on a regular basis, that Byleth wasn’t entirely sure that he was aware of. How he ran his hand through his hair when he got nervous, played with the jewelry in his ears or on his finger when he was deep in thought (Byleth tried very hard not to stare at the ring he always wore on his pinky, but she was more than a little curious as to why he wore it every day when she had never seen it before her five-year slumber), or smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes when he was not ready to express how he felt about a given topic. But there were other things Claude did that Byleth found were not as easy to overlook as his other habits.

One of which was that Claude touched her. A lot. Byleth had always seen him touching his friends, always knew that was how he displayed affection. But it had been so long since she experienced it for herself—before the big fight, before the rumors. . .—that she found herself hyper-aware of any contact he had with her. The way he moved her hand to point at something on a map, rather than pointing to it himself. How his jokes were accompanied with pokes to the ribs and shoulders. How he brushed her hair behind her ear so it wouldn’t get in her face on windy days. Or that he once—_once!_—got so excited to show her a gift that he got for her, that he pecked her on the cheek as he ran to get it. And he somehow managed to make it all seem perfectly natural. Like he was touching her because that was the obvious thing to do, and there was no other possible way to go about his interactions with her. However, Byleth wasn’t sure whether that was all due to his behavior, or her own desire to be touched by him more.

She shook the thought from her head. Those sorts of musings had a way of getting away from her lately. Ever since they started being friends again, and her emotions grew stronger. . . No. She would not think of Claude touching her. That was far too dangerous under the circumstances.

Beside her, in a small tent somewhere in the middle of the Alliance, Claude slept restlessly with Byleth’s hand still held tightly in his grasp. Claude, whose own hand was now bandaged due to a wound he had unintentionally given himself. He was in _pain_, far more pain than he was letting anyone else know about. Byleth prayed that the time in Derdriu would give her the opportunity to find out how to help him. She chuckled darkly to herself. The unrealistic burden he had placed upon himself to protect the people he cared about, she realized, could only be rivaled by a perfectionist with the ability to rewind time.

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him once more, curled up on his side with his hair falling in his face. Byleth was finally getting used to the differences between the Claude laying next to her and the Claude she had first met. It no longer felt foreign to see the beard on his face or the width of his shoulders, or the lack of a braid that she still found she missed. A large portion of her still regretted the time that she missed with him, but she was trying to not focus on that detail. She had time with him in the present, however limited it may be.

Wasn’t that worth something?

Claude flinched at whatever was happening in his dream, causing his fingers to briefly tighten around Byleth’s then release them again. He must have been experiencing what was easily the third or fourth nightmare that night.

”_Please_,” he said. “_Don’t kill them. They didn’t—_“ He squeezed Byleth’s hand again.

Byleth’s pulse quickened as she became overwhelmed with a sense of panic. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to breath evenly. 

It wasn’t the first time she had heard him talk in his sleep that night. But that wasn’t what bothered her, what filled her with worry. What did worry her, was that Claude wasn’t speaking the common language of Fódlan. As he dreamed, Claude murmured in the same language that she had heard him praying in when she was injured two months prior. _In Almyran_, she reminded herself. Though she still did not know how she even _knew_ that detail. Nor did she know how she was able to understand most—if not all—of what he was saying.

Byleth must have learned the language in her youth, right? That was the only thing that made sense. The only problem with that theory was she had no memory of it to speak of. When she closed her eyes and tried to hear the voice of her teacher, all she heard was Claude’s voice instead. . .

And what was worse, Byleth started having dreams. Amidst the nightmares where she watched everyone she had failed die before her over and over, another recurring dream plagued her sleep. 

A dream of meeting Claude alone in his room—a Claude too young to be the present Claude and too old to be the Claude that Byleth once knew—and laying in his bed while he told her the events she had missed since the last time he saw her. She knew it was just a dream, knew it was just her brain processing the details given to her by Claude and Hilda and the other old Golden Deer students on what she had missed in the last five years. But something about the dreams felt _real_, felt as if Byleth had actually been hearing the words come out of Claude’s mouth, felt the sheets on his bed wrapped around her shoulders, smelled the flowers that hung from his balcony.

And it was one detail—one minor detail—that was more real than any sensation that attempted to deceive her into believing her dreams could ever possibly be something more.

In the dreams, she could never touch him.

No matter how much she wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s take a moment of silence for Ferdinand. I’m sorry to make him go this way, but I knew from the beginning that I wasn’t going to let everyone live. It just wouldn’t make sense with the rest of the story. . .
> 
> On another note, I went back and did some name editing for Claude and his mother. If I happened to miss anything, please let me know.
> 
> Health and wellness to all of you <3


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Claude and Byleth land in Derdriu, they hit the ground running. Claude, more than Byleth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My younger sister wanted a shout-out for *finally* catching up to the current chapter. So: welcome to the pain train, sucker. Now you have to wait a week for new content like everyone else!

“Okay,” Byleth shouted over the wind. “I think you and I had a massive oversight when you allowed me to take your wyvern’s reins.”

“And what would that be?” Claude asked in her ear. Byleth turned her head back so she could look at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m scared shitless of landing.”

Claude threw his head back and laughed. When he leaned forward again, he moved his arms past Byleth’s torso to get a hold on the reins in her hands. “Just guide him down gently. Like this. There you go, see? Not much trouble.”

“It’s not the beginning of the descent that troubles me. It’s the last few feet.”

Claude chuckled again. “It’s a manner of trust, Teach,” he said to her. “Trust that he’s done this enough times to not tumble into the ground.”

Byleth looked back and grinned. “Watch this be the first time.”

Unsurprisingly to Claude, they landed on his property without incident. Still, Byleth let out a long sigh of relief when the beast’s feet hit the ground and he tucked in his wings. “See?” Claude said. “No tumbling. Not even with you controlling the reins.”

“Oh, hush,” Byleth replied.

As they dismounted from the large leather saddle, Greta and a few of the others in Claude’s staff hurried to greet them. “Master Claude,” Greta panted. A stable boy ran past her, wordlessly approaching Claude’s wyvern. “Is it _so_ difficult to send a raven ahead of your return so I can make the proper arrangements for your arrival? Even Lady Daphnel is kind enough to announce her visits a day or two ahead of time!”

Claude shot Greta a charming grin as he absently pat his wyvern’s neck. He handed the reins to the stable boy, who led him away with a bow. “My dear housemistress,” Claude said smoothly. “Do you really expect a man to expose his movements in the midst of a war?”

“You say that like you ever did otherwise before the war,” Greta huffed. She peered around his shoulder, at what he assumed was Byleth. “Who have you brought with you?” she asked.

“Ah, I am so happy you asked!” Claude beamed, stepping aside and gesturing to Byleth. “This is Byleth Eisner. Formerly the mercenary known as the Ashen Demon. My professor at the Officer’s Academy. My friend. The archbishop’s appointed successor. And she whose soul has merged with the goddess Sothis herself.” Byleth shot Claude a very brief, very annoyed look, before smiling own at the small round woman who was gaping at her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. Greta shook it, the astounded look not leaving her face.

“Greta is the housemistress,” Claude explained. “She’s been running the estate since my mom was a girl. I honestly don’t think this place could function without her.”

“I hope Claude did not cause too much trouble in my absence,” Byleth said to her.

“Oh! Uh—well,” Greta stammered. “Duke Riegan is certainly less trouble when he is busy, that’s for certain.” She shot her own look at Claude. “When he is not galavanting off to fight in a war that up until recently, he had been insistent on avoiding.”

Byleth chuckled. “Well, I too, have been staying out of the war until recently. So I can’t say that I don’t understand where ‘Duke Riegan’ is coming from.”

Greta frowned up at her. “Pardon me for being forward,” she said. “But. . . Master Claude has told many a tale about you in the last five years.” Claude’s smile faltered, and he felt himself flush when Byleth glanced at him. “However, I. . . I was always under the impression that you had. . . passed on.”

Byleth nodded seriously at Greta’s implied question. “I was merely gone, though I did so little with my time that I may as well have been dead.”

_Creative way of putting it_, Claude thought.

Greta must have been satisfied with that answer, however, as she turned back to Claude without further pushing the subject. “I shall make sure your rooms are prepared within the hour, as well as a guest bedroom for. . . Lady Eisner.” Byleth raised her eyebrows at the title. “Nardel will want to know you have arrived, as well as how long you will be staying?”

“We can see him now. That will give you time to prepare our rooms. As for how long we will be staying, our plan is to remain for at least three weeks. Maybe four. It depends on how long it takes the other nobles of the Alliance to gather. I take it Nardel is in the study?”

Greta sputtered. “A month?” she repeated. “Your friend here hardly looks packed for a few nights.”

“Oh, Lady Eisner will certainly need to purchase some new clothes while we are here. I don’t think the poor thing has bought anything new for her wardrobe in half a decade.” He turned back to Byleth as he started walking toward the house and winked at her, to which she responded with a roll of her eyes. Greta followed hurriedly beside the pair, shooing away the lingering staff along the way.

“Is there to be a roundtable meeting soon, then?” Greta asked.

“As soon as I can get some letters written.” Claude smiled down at her. “You don’t need to escort us the entire way to see Nardel if you have other business to attend to. A few months isn’t long enough for me to forget the layout of my own home.”

Greta bowed with a murmured “My Duke Riegan,” then hurried away.

“She seems nice,” Byleth said, an amused look on her face. Claude chuckled.

“She’s a ball of worry. Has been for as long as I’ve known her.”

“To be fair, you cause quite a bit of anxiety,” Byleth said.

“I don’t doubt it,” Claude said. He offered Byleth his arm. “Shall I escort the Lady Eisner to the study?”

Byleth rolled her eyes again, but she took his arm regardless. “If you call me that again, I’m going to run you through with a sword.”

“That just sounds like a challenge.”

“Remember how well it went for you last time you challenged me and my blade?”

“Fair enough,” Claude said with a laugh. “I should quit while I’m ahead.”

He guided her through his house’s entryway, into a grand hall that led to Claude’s private quarters, where Nader would no doubt be found in Claude’s private study. He wondered briefly about whether he should explain the change in “Nad”s name, then decided against it. After all, she had never seen his face. She probably wouldn’t notice that “Nardel” was the same man.

“Is this really your home?” Byleth asked.

Claude smiled mirthlessly, catching how she looked at the tall pillars and marbled floors. “It was my grandfather’s home, and it is where I have lived since Edelgard attacked Garreg Mach.”

Byleth must have understood what he meant, as she nodded solemnly. “It seems too cold and empty to feel like a home,” she murmured.

Claude nodded back. “Way too empty.”

Sure enough, when the pair made it to Claude’s study, Nader was standing over the large central desk, muttering as he analyzed papers sprawled across the surface. He looked up, and a wide grin spread across his scarred face.

“Kiddo! I didn’t expect to see you back so—“ he cleared his throat when he noticed Byleth at Claude’s side. “Apologies, Master Claude. I mistook you for one of the local children.” _Really?_ Claude thought. _That’s the best excuse you can come up with?_ “It is good to see you finally return home.”

Claude tried not to roll his eyes. “How have things been since I left?” he asked.

Nader’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Entertaining,” he said. “You would’ve loved the look on Count Gloucester’s face when I marched your and Ju—erm, Lady Daphnel’s men across his northern border. It got sticky for a little while when the heir apparent to House Goneril came in with his men as reinforcements, but luckily they were quick to lower their weapons when I raised the Riegan flag. No blood was shed, the only casualty was my eardrums when I got chewed out for ‘bringing my training routine too deep outside of the young duke’s lands’.” Nader was laughing, but Claude caught the strain in his eyes. He had faced Hilda’s brother on the battlefield before, and Claude wondered if he had feared being recognized during his reprimand. Perhaps it would be wise to set up a meeting between the two to air out any past grievances before he returned back to the front lines.

As Claude and Byleth walked closer, Nader kept his eyes on the green-haired, green-eyed woman. Claude saw recognition wash over the older warrior’s face, despite the changes in her appearance. “Who is this beautiful young woman? You didn’t leave for war and return with a wife, did you?”

Claude ignored the joke. For the sake of pretenses, he decided to introduce the two to each other. “Where are my manners?” he asked mildly. “Nardel, this is Byleth Eisner. She was my professor at Garreg Mach, and now she is the hero who is helping me fight against the Empire. Byleth, this is my retainer, Nardel.”

“It is an honor to meet you,” Nader said, giving Byleth a warrior’s bow. Claude counted his blessings that the man didn’t decide to hit on her, at least. He had a bit of a reputation back when he was Claude’s combat instructor. It was part of the reason he was divorced.

Byleth carefully slid her arm out from Claude’s and crossed her arms over her chest, eyebrows raised. “I think you mean to say, it is an honor to meet me ‘again,’ yes?” she asked. Nardel’s eyes widened. “Or are you not Claude’s friend who aided me in saving his foolish life five years ago?” She smiled at Nardel’s gaping face. “I never forget a voice. And I do believe you went by ‘Nad’ back then, not Nardel?”

Nader exchanged a look with Claude, then erupted into boisterous laughter. “Holy shit, kiddo,” he guffawed. “You sure know how to pick ‘em. I don’t think we fooled her for a second!”

Byleth laughed in response while Claude stared at her with wide eyes. “I will admit my own doubt,” she said. “After all, this is the first time that I am actually seeing your face. And now I know why you kept it covered.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nardel chuckled. “These scars aren’t necessarily pretty to look at, are they?”

Once again, without missing a beat, Byleth replied, “I would have thought you’d be more afraid about someone discovering that you’re Almyran.” Claude shot her a questioning look. How the hell did Byleth know that Nader was Almyran? When she met his eyes, her cheeks colored pink. “We welcomed anyone is as a mercenary who wanted to be one. That included Almyrans. She turned back to Nader. “The golden eyes and broad nose give you away, but only if you know what to look for.” 

Nardel blinked, then laughed harder than before, clutching his knees to keep upright. “I like you,” he said. Then, turning to Claude. “Please tell me the two of you will stay for a while. You may not be pleasant company, but this one surely will be.”

Maybe Claude would have to worry about Nader hitting on her, after all. Still, he wouldn’t bother making a scene about it. Not yet, at least. Instead, he laughed heartily. “Who are you calling unpleasant company?” he asked. “You have about as much charm as a rock.”

“Yes, but a very shiny rock,” Nader chortled. “Now, let’s leave this stuffy room for the day. I’ve hardly heard a word from you since you fled Derdriu in the middle of the night, and you still owe me an explanation as to why you left.” He looked back at Byleth once more, a skeptical look in his eyes. “I’m sure it’s quite the story.”

Hours later, after food had been shared and rooms prepared, Claude found himself in the study once more. Nader had left some reports unattended to, as they specifically required Claude’s approval. Claude also noticed a letter from his father on the table. He debated on waiting to read it until the morning, as there were other papers that required his attention for the time being. Mainly details on how to compensate his troops, who had been mobilized on such short notice to draw Count Gloucester’s attention away from Myrddin Bridge. There were minimum requirements for paying soldiers, but Nardel knew Claude. He liked to oversee the estate’s budgets for himself, giving extra where he could to feed and clothe those less fortunate than himself, whether or not they were under his employment. There were also the plans to turn the western wing of his home into an orphanage, which made a bulk of the remaining paperwork. Those required too much supervision to approve when Claude was away. Now that he would be in town for a few weeks, Claude wondered if he could finish the construction before he would have to leave again. . .

He shook his head. There was too much work to be done. If he did not read the letter from his father, it would never get done. He took out his letter opener and cut through the wax seal on the back of the envelope.

_My son,_

_Your mother and I require your presence home as soon as possible._

_There are whispers among the court with your extended absence that you will not be returning to your beloved homeland. I am aging, and will be unable to challenge any of your cousins much longer if they decide to stake a claim on the throne. We respected your wishes when you decided to not return on your twenty-first birthday, as you should have, but I am afraid that—_

“Can’t sleep?” Byleth asked. When Claude looked up, she was peering hesitantly in through the door. Claude smiled and beckoned for her to come in, carefully folding his father’s letter and setting it back down on his desk.

“More like won’t sleep. There’s too much to look over, and if I don’t take care of it now, I’m afraid I won’t have the time later.”

“I thought that’s why you had a retainer?” Byleth asked. She closed the door behind her and crossed the space between her and the desk.

Claude chuckled. “He’s more here for show, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that a nice way of saying he’s still in hiding?” Byleth wondered. She raised an eyebrow. “I know you told me the name he used before was a false identity. I’m assuming Nardel is not his birth name, either?”

“It isn’t,” Claude confirmed. “Though, he is in much less danger now. I think he sticks around as a favor to my father at this point.”

“Oh, yeah. You told me before that they were friends.”

Claude nodded.

“War buddies?”

“Something like that.”

“That would explain the jobs I’ve seen him have.” Claude looked at Byleth with an inquisitive brow. “I know a seasoned soldier when I see one. Even past their glory days, they still stand in a way that speaks of a longing for their glory days.” She picked up a trinket that sat on Claude’s desk, a dark orb with a bird spreading its wings etched in the center, and spun it absently in her hands. “Nardel is no exception.”

Claude smirked at her and shook his head. “I don’t think he would like you saying he’s past his glory days.”

“Ah, so I am right?” Byleth asked. She leaned over the desk with an amused smirk, and the already-low neckline of her shirt dropped even further. It took everything in Claude’s will to keep his eyes on hers._ It must be late,_ he thought with no small amount of annoyance,_ if I can’t even control where I’m looking_.

“You are,” he replied, looking down at his papers again. No sense in tempting his eyes to wander. “Not just a soldier, though. The man is a genius in regards to war.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you won’t let him handle your reports.”

Claude chuckled to himself. “I’m better with numbers.”

“Really? That would have been nice to know when you were skipping out on your math homework,” Byleth teased.

“I don’t like Fódlan math,” Claude said with a smile. “We used a different method of calculating back home. I use it in my own paperwork. It’s easier for me to follow.”

“Hmm,” was Byleth’s only reply. She was sitting up straight again, but still leaning on the desk, now far more occupied with the blue orb in her hand. “Is he any good at shopping? Knowing your dramatic taste, I will probably want someone to go with us into town tomorrow who has a more practical sense of style.”

“Did you have a reason for coming here, or did you just want to distract me?” Claude asked with a laugh.

“So serious. . .” Byleth sighed. She set the orb down and looked around the study. “I can’t sleep, either,” she admitted. “I’m guessing it’s too late for a tour, but could you at least show a woman where she could find a good book to occupy her time?” Her eyes crinkled.

Claude smiled, setting down his quill. “Do I ever,” he said. He rose from his chair and stretched his arms upward. “Come on, I’ll show you to the library.” He took the candle off his desk and led Byleth out towards the back half of his endless, pointless corridor of empty rooms, to the one he favored most.

“Holy shit,” Byleth gasped with delight as they stepped into the library. “I don’t think I’ve seen this many books in my entire life.”

“You never struck me as a book worm, Teach,” Claude said. He bent over the marbled fireplace and tossed a few logs into the dustless base, using pre-stored kindling and the candle in his hands to start a fire.

“I’m not,” Byleth admitted. Claude handed her the candle, and she walked to the first row of shelves. “But it’s a good way to pass the time when you can’t sleep.” Claude looked up at her. She was running her finger over the binding of a thick tome, reading the title to herself before pulling it off the shelf. Now that the fire was going strongly and the lighting was better, Claude noticed how her eyes kept fluttering closed, and how she shook herself slightly to keep them open.

“Hey, Teach,” Claude called. She looked up at him, her finger keeping its place on the first page.

“What?” she asked.

“Were you lying when you said you couldn’t sleep?” Claude asked. 

Byleth closed the book and placed it back on the shelf, taking a long, slow breath. “I don’t _want_ to sleep,” she said simply.

Claude frowned, taking a step closer. “Why not?” he asked.

Byleth shook her head. “Because I have nightmares,” she admitted. She looked up at him, her expression scrutinizing. “You said you saw me die last night, in your dream, yes?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Claude murmured.

Byleth began running her fingers through a strand of her hair, staring at the floor. “Do you have those dreams often?”

“I used to,” Claude admitted. “I actually haven’t had nightmares since coming to Garreg Mach.” He tried to smile. “Until last night, that is.”

Byleth nodded, as if that was to be expected. “I see dead people all the time. Some who aren’t really dead, but who I have seen die before, and some who. . . whose deaths I could not prevent.”

“Your father,” Claude guessed.

Byleth nodded. “Mostly Dad. Sometimes Lonato, and others who were too deep in a sea of enemies to save. I’ve had a few of failures, more than you know about. . . But the nightmares definitely got worse after Dad.”

Claude stepped closer. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “Is there anything that helps?” Claude asked.

“Umm,” Byleth said with a breathy laugh. “The only effective remedy I’ve found is drinking until I pass out.” Claude stiffened. “I stopped, of course,” Byleth assured him quickly. “My dad racked up a lot of debts over the years due to his alcoholism. I never wanted to be that way. _He_ never wanted me to be that way. . .” She took a long breath. “So. . . I stopped drinking. Then shortly after, I stopped sleeping.”

“How often do you actually sleep?” Claude asked, the worry more apparent in his voice than he intended. Byleth shrugged against him.

“At least once a week. Sometimes more, if I’m lucky. The more I used my ability, the more likely I am to sleep.” She looked up at Claude. “I, umm, used to do that, too. Rewind the same few seconds over and over until my body couldn’t take it any more. But sometimes it just made the dreams more vivid, so I had to stop that as well.”

For some reason, that put a knot in Claude’s stomach. He rested his chin on her head and hummed thoughtfully. “Well, if you’re not sleeping, I guess I’m not either.”

Byleth shook her head underneath his. “That’s not only unhealthy, but incredibly stupid.”

“Good thing I have a string of work-related health and mental issues already,” Claude said. He released her, walking back towards the bookshelf she had been looking at. He already knew the book he wanted, so it was easy to find. Once he had it in his hands, he sat on the small velvet blue couch that faced the fireplace and pat the seat next to him. “I can find blankets if you want, but the fire should be enough to keep us warm.”

Byleth made a frustrated noise, but she sat beside him regardless. “Children’s stories?” she asked, reading the title as she curled her toes underneath her.

Claude shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “You don’t have to think much, so it’s good to read when you’re tired.”

“Hmm,” Byleth sighed. She rested her head on Claude’s shoulder. “Does this mean you’ll read to me?”

“I guess I can,” he chuckled. He flipped to one of his favorites, one his mother used to read to him on stormy nights. “Once upon a time. . .”

“Claude,” Byleth called. Claude turned his head to look back at her, shifting the weight of the wooden beam in his hand.

“What’s up, Teach?” he asked.

Byleth approached him, waving a stack of folded papers in her hands. “I don’t really feel comfortable signing these,” she said.

Claude sighed, setting the beam down before he replied. He had a feeling this was going to be a longer conversation than he wanted, and that beam was already heavy without standing around and talking. He guided Byleth off the path so the construction workers wouldn’t have to walk around them. “Why not? You knew that you were coming here as Rhea’s representative. Half of the damned nobles around here won’t show up at just my summons, but they _will_ show up at yours.”

“I know that,” Byleth said impatiently. “But I thought I would be requesting their presence as ‘Byleth’, not ‘Lady Eisner, emissary of the church of Seiros and vessel of the goddess Sothis’!”

Claude laughed. “Come on, I thought you would like that.”

Byleth blinked. “You wrote that to be _funny_?”

“Kind of,” Claude admitted.

Byleth lowered her hand, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Claude studied her face, trying to figure out what about the title had bothered her so much. When his eyes started drifting towards her lips, he decided he wasn’t going to get an answer by watching her alone. “Look, if you don’t like the overly-long title, I will happily rewrite the letters this afternoon, it’s really not a big deal.” He gave her his usual smile. “I guess I’m not as funny as I used to be.”

“No, it’s fine,” Byleth said absently. “I won’t make you waste your time rewriting all of these invitations again. I’ll just sign them.”

Claude caught her hand before she could walk away. “You don’t have to worry about me, Teach,” he said assuringly. “A sore hand is a small price to pay if you’re uncomfortable with it.” She looked up to him hesitantly. “Just say the word, and those letters will be rewritten.”

Byleth’s lips parted slightly, her green eyes taking him in with an intensity that Claude found difficult to look at with so many other people around. “I’d prefer to be called Byleth,” she began, “not ‘Lady’ Eisner. It feels like a false title. Even if Rhea appointed me her successor, I’m not actually the archbishop. And. . . I don’t like the word ‘vessel’.” She dropped her gaze. “I’m not an object.”

“Done and done,” Claude replied. He gently took the letters from Byleth’s hands and tucked them in his shirt. “I’ll have the new ones ready for you to sign by dinner.”

“Thank you,” Byleth murmured. Her eyes flicked up at him, then she took a step back, looking behind Claude’s shoulder at the western wing of his home. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean the construction!” Claude turned away from her, his hands on his hips as he sighed contentedly. “I’m turning the ballroom and three dining halls in the western wing into dorms. Hopefully I can fit thirty beds into the ballroom, and roughly half that into each of the old dining halls. That’ll be what, sixty kids? The kitchen and guest rooms can be left alone for use of the caretakers, but I wanted those old abandoned pieces of ancestral arrogance to finally be put to use while I’m here.” He looked back at Byleth and furrowed his brow. “What?” he asked.

“Are you building a school?” Byleth wondered.

“No, an orphanage,” Claude explained. He turned back to look at the men passing by, beams of wood in their arms. “I mean, there may be some learning involved. I think it’s important to at least know how to read, write, and do simple math. It will be hard for them to find work when they’re older without those skills. For the time being, I’m more worried about them being clothed and fed. That’s why this needs to get done before we head back to Garreg Mach.”

“And you really think you’ll need to house so many children? I can’t imagine sixty orphans being found so immediately.”

Claude furrowed his brow at her. “What do you think happens in war, Teach?” he asked. Byleth looked up at him sadly.

“Death,” she answered honestly. “So I guess that would imply orphaned children.”

Claude nodded. “I’m just doing what I can to help in the meantime. If I can get the rooms built, hire a caretaker or two, and start bringing in children off the streets, I know I can trust Nardel to oversee everything after we leave again. When we win this war, I can start doing more to give them the care and education they need.” Byleth was staring at him again, and Claude was really having a hard time not staring at her lips. Especially when she smiled. “Where are you going?” Claude asked with a laugh, watching as she crossed over to the other side of the path.

“You need help building,” Byleth said, picking up the beam Claude had set down earlier. She hefted it over her shoulder and grinned at him confidently. “And since you need to rewrite those invitations, I have nothing better to do today.”

He tried to hide it. The way his hand shook when he read yet another report that one of the villages on the outskirts of his lands was attacked when he was gone. That seemed to happen quite a bit. Claude was unsure whether it was because other nobles were trying to weaken his tenant’s loyalty to him, or if his own patrols became lax without him being present to look in on them. Regardless, it infuriated him.

Byleth must have been paying attention to him. She had a horrible habit of that. “Break time,” she announced, setting down her quill and walking over to his desk. “Get up. We made a deal. If your hand shakes, we stop working.”

“My hand isn’t shaking,” Claude grumbled. He put his hand under the desk, and Byleth gave him an unamused look.

“You’re being childish.” She snatched his wrist, lifting up the trembling fist. Claude sighed and made a face at her. “Come on. It’s a nice day. Let’s go for a walk. And if you’re feeling better by the end of it, we can come back.”

Claude sighed again.

“Don’t make me sling you over my shoulders, von Riegan.” Byleth’s stern expression softened with the slightest crinkling of her eyes.

“Fine,” Claude groaned, pushing back on his chair and standing up. How he could resist those eyes of hers?

Byleth smiled. Claude looped her arm through his and walked with her out into his gardens. The longer they walked, the more his hand relaxed again. Not that he would ever admit it. “I feel like it’s been ages since I saw flowers blooming like this,” Byleth said.

“Well, you technically had an extended winter, so that doesn’t surprise me,” Claude said.

Byleth hummed thoughtfully. “I never thought of it that way. . .” she said. Her free hand reached out to touch one of the blooms as they passed by it. “Well, it definitely makes me appreciate spring, let me tell you.”

Claude chuckled. The pair walked together in relative silence. Byleth didn’t seem to mind, though. Now that Claude thought about it, she had always been that way. Even when they were first friends, there were several days where he would sit with her in her private courtyard, reading a book while she graded papers or did some reading of her own. And it never felt awkward. She never made it awkward. Claude wondered if she just liked to exist in the same space as someone else.

“What’s on your mind?” Byleth asked. She smirked up at him. “You seem pensive. I hope you’re taking this break seriously, and not thinking about work.”

“Teach,” Claude said teasingly. “I take nothing seriously.” He could hardly admit that she was what made him so deep in thought. 

“You take some things seriously,” Byleth chuckled. “Otherwise you wouldn’t need me to babysit you as much as I do.”

Claude rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, hopefully when this war is over, you won’t need to watch over me as much.”

Byleth scoffed. “Wishful thinking,” she teased.

Claude looked up at the sky. Some of his wyverns were flying overhead, playfully nipping at each other between somersaults and dives through the air. They looked so free, and Claude envied them for that. When was the last time he felt completely free to do as he wished? Even now, there were still things that needed to be addressed, thoughts that plagued his mind, though he desperately wished to avoid them.

“We still haven’t talked about how we’re going to handle our Edelgard dilemma.”

Byleth shot him an annoyed look. “Do you know _at all_ what the work ‘break’ means?”

“But this is something that needs to be talked about.”

“We can discuss it later.”

“If we say that now, then we’ll keep pushing it off. And I would rather talk about it ahead of time than face Edelgard again and realize we don’t know what to do,” Claude said. Byleth avoided his gaze. “What if I promise I’ll take the rest of the day off? Have this _one_ conversation with me, and I won’t step foot into the study until the sun rises tomorrow.”

They stopped walking. “Okay,” she whispered. “Fine. Might as well get it over with.”

“Why are you being so defensive about this?”

“Because I’m _useless_ now, Claude,” Byleth hissed. “I mean, that’s what Edelgard proved, right? Anything we try to redo, she can undo just as easily. I can’t use my powers anymore. Not to save you, or our friends, or hell, even myself! What if I use my ability, and end up losing an entire battle because I tried to stop the death of only a handful of soldiers?” She crossed her arms over her torso. “I don’t know if I can live with that kind of fear.”

“So, that suddenly makes your experience as a mercenary, and the fact that you can wield the Sword of the Creator completely useless?” Claude challenged. Byleth bit her lip.

“No. . .” she sighed. “But I felt so much more confident when I knew that a mistake wouldn’t matter, because it could always be undone. And now. . .” She shook her head.

“Maybe it’s a good thing?” Claude offered. “Maybe we were too confident in your ability before. It made us sloppy. I’m not saying this for certain, but Think about it. What if we could have avoided the Myrddin Bridge incident altogether just by positioning more guards in the rear in the first place? We never even considered it because we were too confident that the battle was going to go _exactly_ how we wanted it to go, and we underestimated our enemy in the end because of that.” Byleth shot him a look. “Yes, your gift is valuable, but wars have been won without it before. Hell, every battle to ever exist was won without your gift.” He put his hand on Byleth’s shoulder. “You’re still valuable, Teach. You’re still strong and cunning, and someone worthy of being followed. Even if we have to limit the uses of your gift.” He smiled softly. “And didn’t you say the other day that you hardly use it, anyway?”

Byleth gave a weak smile back. “I did,” she whispered. “My little fawns are far more capable than they used to be in battle. . . It helps.”

“And when you do rewind time, how far back do you usually go?”

“No more than a couple of minutes, with a few exceptions.”

“I think you can still probably do that, minus the exceptions,” Claude said. “As long as it’s only a few minutes here and there, and not the same few minutes over and over again, there should be no issue with using your gift. Edelgard won’t have the ability to change the tide of an entire battle with only a few minutes.” Claude made a face. “And if she could, we would be fucked, anyway.”

“But what about what happened with Ferdinand?” Byleth asked. “That was only a handful of seconds, and look what happened.”

Claude contemplated her words. “You’re not going to like my suggestion.”

“Well, I don’t like this entire conversation. So you might as well tell me.”

Claude ran his free hand through his hair. “You and I avoid her on the battlefield,” he said. “We keep you away from her so she won’t know what you’re changing. And me. . .” He laughed darkly. “Well, if I’m doing the same dumb shit over and over again while your actions are changing, I think she’ll pick up on the fact that I lied to her about who could rewind time.”

Byleth crossed her arms. “But what if she seeks you out?” Byleth whispered. “What if she decides keeping you alive is too much of a risk, and she kills you?”

Claude swallowed hard. “Then you let me die.”

“No, Claude. That’s—“

“A reasonable decision,” Claude cut her off. He wasn’t sure when his other hand had ended up on her other shoulder, or when he had stepped closer to her, but his face was mere inches from hers. “I told Edelgard that I was the one with the gift to _protect_ you,” he whispered. “I don’t take that decision lightly. If I die, let me die, so that you can win for both of us. . . Understand? I’m not saying it will be an easy decision, but. . . It’s a necessary one.”

Byleth nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said. Her eyes were green fire. “But that just means I’m going to work that much harder to keep you alive the first time.”

Claude chuckled. “No complaints here.”

Byleth smiled up at him, so sweetly it made his heart ache.

“We’ll make it out of this,” Claude told her. It was an empty promise, in a manner of speaking, but something in him felt compelled to say it anyway.

“Duke Riegan,” Greta’s voice called. Byleth and Claude turned towards the voice, each taking half a step away from each other. Greta rounded the corner panting. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Claude wondered if the increased number of people on his estate were keeping her busy. “I thought you would be in your study.”

“We were,” Claude said smoothly, “But the day was too nice to miss a stroll through the gardens.”

Greta gave him a slight frown. “Another reply came in for the roundtable meeting.” She extended her hand, holding a thick envelope with “Duke Riegan and Lady Eisner” written elegantly on the front.

“Can you put it on my desk?” Claude asked her. He quickly winked at Byleth. “I think we’re done working for the day. I can look at the response tomorrow.” A promise was a promise, and Claude was certain Byleth would strangle him if he took that envelope.

“As you wish, my sovereign.” Greta bowed low to Claude, then gave a curtsy to Byleth. Once her back was turned, Claude looked down to Byleth with a wide grin.

“The afternoon is all yours, Teach. What would you like to do?”

Byleth raised her eyebrows. “How about another wyvern riding lesson?”

“Word must finally be spreading that you are back in Derdriu,” Nader huffed, lowering his practice sword. “I don’t remember having so many spectators two days ago.”

“Neither do I,” Claude agreed. “But I don’t think they’re here for me.”

Several paces away, Byleth stood in the middle of a circle of nobles, each of whom was not-so-gracefully vying for her attention.

“Does it make you jealous?” Nader asked, a wicked grin on his face. Claude smiled and shrugged.

“Not really. I like not having to talk with the nobles around here any more than necessary. Besides, it’s strategically better for Teach to ask for their aid in the war. The more people we have on our side before the next roundtable meeting, the better.”

“That’s not what I meant, kiddo,” Nardel chuckled. He used the shock on Claude’s face to his advantage, lunging at the younger man when his guard was down.

“Shit!” Claude growled, barely blocking the blow. “I thought we were done sparring.”

Nardel chuckled to himself. “We are. It was just too tempting to not resist the opening.”

Claude rolled his eyes.

Nardel lowered his voice, stepping closer and looking back at the growing crowd. “She was a beautiful woman even back at the academy. But it’s not just that now,” he murmured. He set down his training weapon, and Claude was tempted for a moment to pay him back by rapping him on the shoulder. “She was just a mercenary before. Doing the work as a professor was an anomaly. But now? Now she’s _powerful_,” Nardel continued. “You can feel it coming off of her. I’m not a religious man, but looking at her makes even me want to get down on my knees and pray.” He shot Claude a warning look. “Greedy men will want to take advantage of her. Just be aware of that.”

“I think Teach can handle herself,” Claude said. He tried to smile but wasn’t so sure it was convincing. 

Nardel raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face. “Physically? I don’t doubt it for a second. But emotionally?” He pat Claude on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t be so sure. She’s not like you, kiddo. She isn’t used to the games that nobles play. And a beautiful, single woman with the power she possesses. . .” His eyebrows lowered thoughtfully. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. If you want a catch like that, games of patience might not be in your favor.” He walked away to replace his wooden sword, leaving Claude to stare at Byleth, a little more worry in his mind than he had that morning. And the sudden awareness of how many of the nobles surrounding her were unmarried. Like her.

It had never even crossed his mind that any of the nobles would intend to secure her loyalty to their house through marriage. Which was foolish, on his part, and he knew that very well. How often had young women been flung in his way for the very same reason? And all he had was a crest of Riegan. A minor one, at that.

And Byleth. . .

She caught his eye, and gave him a pleading look over the crowd surrounding her. Claude knew they were friends, knew that Byleth trusted him far more than she had a few months prior. But was that enough to win her over?

That would have to be contemplated later, he decided. When there weren’t so many watchful eyes around.With a carefully practiced smile, he ran over to save her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side note: the comment about Nader being divorced is to tie in the added DLC that mentions him having a daughter. I’m not sure if that will come up later in this story, but in case it does, I don’t do affairs. And I *really* want him and Judith together. . .
> 
> Also, can we get a little celebration for hitting chapter 30?! Because hooooooooly cats we’ve hit CHAPTER 30 Y’ALL!!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margrave Edmund invites Claude and Byleth to a “small dinner party” the week before the roundtable meeting

“Stop fidgeting,” Claude said. “You look fine.”

Byleth made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, and continued to adjust—and readjust—the skirt of her full-length dress from the opposite side of the carriage. “I just don’t understand the point of this. All of these people are more than capable of visiting me at your home, and if they are here now, there is no reason they cannot meet me at the roundtable meeting in a week.” She readjusted the skirt again. “Nor why a dinner requires me to dress like this.”

“Because nobles are always looking for an excuse to judge each other, meaning you can hardly leave the house without looking like you’re ready to be presented to a king,” Claude said with a roll of his eyes.

“At least you don’t have thirty pins stabbing your scalp,” Byleth muttered.

Claude chuckled. “I also don’t look as pretty as you.” It was a true statement any given day of the week, but especially true when Byleth actually put effort into her appearance. The soft pink dress, the hair pinned up in an elaborate bun and the full face of makeup made the already-beautiful woman look stunning.

Byleth gave him a sly smirk. “You think I’m pretty, Duke Riegan?” she asked teasingly.

“I’m not blind,” Claude chuckled.

Byleth smiled, looking down as she fidgeted. “Just promise me we won’t be at this dinner for too long. I’m almost done with the book I’ve been reading, and I’d like to finish it tonight.”

“One hour,” Claude promised. “Two tops. There should be no more than a dozen other people there, so that shouldn’t be too difficult to manage.”

The carriage approached an inner city mansion, a row of twenty or so other carriages lining the side of the home. Byleth shot Claude a look. “I don’t think there’s only twelve people here.”

“Well, the Margrave and I have a completely different definition of the phrase ‘small gathering,’ apparently.”

Byleth huffed. “At least we get to see Marianne,” she sighed. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that any of our friends would have second homes in the capital.”

“It’s convenient,” Claude agreed. “Especially when a meeting is expected to last several days. It can be expensive to get a hotel in the city.”

“Voice of experience?” Byleth teased.

Claude smirked. “Sometimes I don’t want to ride a horse for half an hour to get home in the middle of the night, then have to make the same ride the next day.”

Byleth shrugged. “That’s fair, I guess.”

The carriage stopped next to the others, and Claude’s driver opened the door for them. “Thank you,” Claude said to the man as he stepped into the open air. He turned back to extend his hand to Byleth, helping her out of the carriage while she held her skirts up to avoid tripping over them. “Are you ready?”

Byleth’s eyes crinkled. “Yes,” she said. “I’m starving.”

With a laugh, Claude led her inside.

It had been a while since Claude had entered the mansion. Fours years prior, Margrave Edmund had bought the building from a smaller noble house, who decided to retire in the countryside. It had been a large, but modest home back then, with mostly blank walls and sparsely-furnished rooms. It was immediately clear that Marianne’s adoptive father had done some redecorating since then. Tapestries hung on every wall, and plush carpets lined the halls. Ornate sofas rested in corners and beside arched windows for guests to lounge on as they waited for their host to make an appearance, all the while sipping on champagne and laughing with one another in delicate voices.

“You would think there isn’t a war going on,” Byleth sneered, her grip on Claude’s arm tightening. Claude pat her hand assuringly.

“Most of these people haven’t seen combat like you and I. Of those who have, it likely hasn’t been since their own carefully-controlled missions when they were at the academy,” he murmured. Byleth scoffed at “carefully-controlled.” “But we need their support,” Claude reminded her. “Shallow and materialistic as they are, they have the finances and the soldiers we need to win.”

Byleth nodded slowly. “I know,” she whispered. Her shoulders straightened and her face smoothed into her stoic gaze. Claude couldn’t help admiring how calm and elegant she looked. “Let’s see if all your silly lessons on etiquette pay off.”

Claude smiled his agreement. Together, they walked further into the home.

It was apparent the moment their presence was noticed by the thirty or so other guests. All conversation stopped save for the softest of whispers as hungry eyes fixated on Byleth. Yet she kept her head high as Claude wore his casual grin, hoping to keep a relaxed air around him. “Let me introduce you to some people,” he whispered. Leading Byleth by the arm, he approached the nearest cluster of nobles, oozing charm as he extended his hand to each of the men and women before introducing Byleth to all of them.

“It has been a while since we have seen you in these parts, Duke Riegan,” a middle-aged woman said. “My husband suspects that you have grown bored of politics and sought to bring yourself a little excitement by playing soldier.” Her eyelashes fluttered a little too quickly to be innocent. “I told him that was impossible, since you have been encouraging us all to avoid the war for so long now.”

“I have joined the war, but I have not changed my opinion at all,” Claude said with an easygoing laugh. “I have said since the beginning that we must remain neutral without the goddesses’ guidance. Now that I have it, I am more confident in our ability to end this war once and for all.” He looked down at Byleth and smiled. “I took our reunion as a sign that we could at last proceed with an assured victory. And so far, I have not been wrong.”

The woman turned to Byleth, eyes narrowed. “So you _do_ claim to be the goddess reincarnated?” she asked, a hint of accusation in her tone.

Byleth’s expression did not change. “No,” she said flatly. “I claim that her soul has merged with mine. But I was born just as human as you were.”

The woman frowned at the statement, as if she had been insulted in some way. Her retort was cut off by one of the young men standing in the small circle. Conrad von Lukas, Claude thought his name was. But he wasn’t certain. It may have been Albert von Lukas, now that he thought about it. He knew one was the name of a nearby count and the other was the name of his son, but he was not sure which was which. Regardless, Claude did not like the way the man was smiling down at Byleth. “Now, Lady Eisner—“

“Not Lady,” Byleth corrected. “I have no title.”

Albert—or maybe Conrad—’s smile tightened briefly. “Miss Eisner,” he began again. “Your name is somehow familiar to me, but I fear I cannot place it. Normally, I would ask if you were from a minor noble house, but considering you just corrected me, am I to assume you are a commoner?”

“Yes,” Byleth replied. Something ever so subtle shifted in her face. Claude doubted anyone else around them noticed, but he did. He was used to studying her face, after all. “Your last name is Lukas, yes?”

The young man furrowed his brow, but the grin on his face grew more sly. “So you _do_ know me?”

Byleth nodded, and even Claude’s curiosity was piqued. “My late father and I did some work for your family a few years back.”

“Some work?” The von Lukas heir repeated. His expression once more shifted, realization washing over his face. “Your father was the Blade Breaker,” he said with a smirk. “Jeralt Eisner, yes. Which would make you the renowned Ashen Demon. It is all coming back to me now. If I remember correctly, more than half of our land’s herds are still alive thanks to your assistance with our little thief problem.” He looked Byleth up and down. “Time must have altered my memory, for I do not remember you being so. . . Striking.” Claude’s jaw tightened. “And was your hair not darker before?”

“My hair and eyes lightened as a by-product of my relationship with Sothis,” Byleth explained. “They were both blue last time you would have seen me.”

“So they were. . .” The man’s eyes raked over Byleth’s form. “I think I like the green better.”

A faint pink touched Byleth’s cheeks, but she kept her face smooth. Claude, on the other hand, felt as if his chest had been lit on fire. “Excuse me, Teach,” he said, lightly resting his hand on Byleth’s arm. “We should be polite and make the rounds before dinner. I can feel everyone’s eyes on the back of our heads.”

Byleth blinked up at him. “Lead the way,” she said. Claude took her arm and looped it through his, smiled at the others in the group, then led Byleth to the next handful of people gaping at her.

The routine was fairly cyclical. Claude would introduce her. One or two of the other guests would be brave enough to ask Byleth about her connection to Sothis, or what her role in church was, or how exactly she came into her role in the first place. Byleth would answer their questions, then Claude would lead her to the next set of open stares. Some of the nobles were eager and irreverent. Others were skeptical. All refused to take their eyes off Byleth.

And the only one of their stares that bothered Claude was that of the von Lukas son.

Byleth was in the middle of explaining for easily the third time that no, she was not actually Sothis, and therefore should not be called Sothis or ‘the goddess’ or any such thing, when Margrave Edmund finally descended the stairs from his second floor. “My friends!” his voice boomed, demanding the attention of everyone in the room. Marianne stood right beside him, wearing a wide-necked dress, her hair down and covering the exposed skin of her shoulders. It had been so long since Claude had seen her with her hair down, he almost forgot that it curled naturally. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. I had some, ah, last-minute business to take care of.” Most of the guests laughed knowingly. In Derdriu, keeping busy was celebrated almost as much as having the right blood (or a crest within it). It was what brought Margrave Edmund up in position so quickly, coupled with his natural charm that even Claude found that he appreciated. On most days. Marianne silently stepped in position behind her adoptive father as he descended the stairs, eyes scanning the room. “Ah, Duke Riegan. I see you have brought our guest of honor safely to my doors.”

“It was the least I could do after such a generous invitation,” Claude said with an easygoing grin. He could feel thirty pairs of eyes on him as he did so.

Margrave Edmund laughed heartily in reply. He looked Byleth up and down, so quickly that a less-watchful pair of eyes wouldn’t have noticed it, before addressing the rest of the room once more. “Why are we all standing around? Dinner has been served. Please, friends, let us move to the dining hall. Lady Eisner, my dear, you must sit by me at the head of the table. You are the whole reason that we have gathered, aren’t you?” He effortlessly took Byleth’s arm and guided her towards the dining hall. Marianne shot a look at his back before turning to Claude with a weary smile on her face.

“Hello, darling,” Claude whispered, quickly kissing her cheek. He extended his arm to her, and Marianne took it as they followed closely behind Byleth and the margrave. “I take it the last two weeks have been pleasant.”

Marianne looked as if she suppressed a sigh. “I’m surprised that I managed to make with him into Derdriu,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “You would have thought I was a school-aged girl who ran away with the local farm boy, with the way he treated me when I came home. He tried to forbid me from returning to the front lines.”

“Tried?” Claude prodded.

Marianne glanced up at him. “We may have gotten into a screaming match over it.”

“Oh-hoho, feisty! How unlike you!”

“Sh!” Marianne urged. “We can’t let onto what we’re talking about, otherwise it’ll make things worse. He thinks he can convince Byleth that I am too delicate to return to any battles, but. . . I have learned to be more headstrong about my wants over the last few years. I probably have you and Hilda to thank for that.” Her expression grew weary once more. “Regardless, there are. . . Conditions to me being in the city with him.”

Claude frowned at that. “What conditions?” Claude asked, suspecting he knew the answer. It was no secret that the margrave had been trying to find Marianne a husband for the better part of the last five years, but very few knew how much the process of courting out a strain on Marianne. Nor why.

“Do you know Albert von Lukas?”

“Is that the count or his son?”

Marianne’s grip on Claude’s arm tightened. “Both, in a way. He inherited his father’s title shortly after our class reunion a couple months ago. Or so I’m told.”

Claude’s frown deepened. And suddenly he was thinking of how the man had been eyeing Byleth earlier that evening. It made his face grow hot. “Are you engaged to him, then?”

“I only promised to give him my attentions while we are in Derdriu and see what happened from there. Nothing is set in stone.” Her words were final on the matter, not only because they reached the dining room, but because her tone indicated a lack of desire to discuss the matter further. Claude could hardly press her further with so many other people around, anyway. When Claude looked up towards Marianne’s father, he was eyeing them intently.

“Come, Duke Riegan. Sit on my other side. You are my guest of honor, too, of course. Marianne, dear, will you sit between Lady Eisner and Count Lukas? I fear he may get bored if he only has this old man’s voice to listen to,” he said with a chuckle.

Marianne gave a tense smile, which improved little when she looked down at Albert von Lukas. “Of course,” she said softly. She took her seat without protest, and Claude walked around the other side of the table to sit across from Byleth.

“It is actually good that you are both here,” Margrave Edmund said. “Because I think you both deserve to be apart of this conversation. You see, I was telling Lady Eisner and Count Lukas here that my dear adoptive daughter was a timid thing in her youth. And while I appreciate the confidence that you, Miss Eisner, instilled in her at the academy, I don’t understand her sudden desire to turn herself into a war machine when she should be focused on her duties as an heiress.”

Marianne gave Claude an “I told you so” expression. “A healer is hardly a war machine,” she politely corrected.

“Regardless, I am curious what sort of pull you have over these young men and women that they follow you so effortlessly. It cannot possibly be your beauty alone.”

Marianne’s eyebrows lowered.

Byleth, for all her nerves in the carriage, sat calmly beside him. Her face was smooth, her shoulders relaxed. Claude could not even detect a twitch in her fingers. “Countless men have dismissed me for my looks and countless men have asked for my forgiveness when I return to them with the blood of their enemies on my hands.” A cold chill ran down Claude’s spine and he suppressed a grin. “I imagine you will end up doing the same when I have ended this fruitless war.”

The margrave blinked, then laughed heartily at her reply. His laughter was quickly joined by that of Albert von Lukas.

“It is true, Margrave Edmund,” he said. “I fear that even I am among the list of men who underestimated the beautiful, esteemed mercenary before I experienced what she was capable of firsthand.” When he winked at Byleth, Claude’s hand clenched under the table. Why was Marianne supposed to be giving this man her attention when he clearly had other interests?

“Is that so?” Margrave Edmund’s eyes were locked onto Byleth, so he must have missed Albert’s wink. He grinned widely. “I look forward to being convinced,” he said.

Claude was surprised by how quickly the dinner flew by. Especially considering how little he engaged in the conversations around him. Then again, it was difficult to get a word in with the count and the margrave both fawning over Byleth like children with a new toy. It was almost impressive how many questions could be asked of her between the two of them.

And Claude was all too happy when it was finally time to leave.

When everyone stood and ushered toward the door, Albert moved to walk close beside Claude. Not Marianne. Not Byleth. But Claude.

“Will you answer a question for me?” Albert asked. Claude suppressed a yawn as he looked up at the tall brunet. It was late. Far later than Claude intended to be out. But he still had some levels of social graces to uphold.

“Yes, of course,” he said pleasantly. Albert leaned in closer. Claude absently wondered if he feared others eavesdropping, and the thought put him on edge.

“I heard you on a handful of occasions refer to Lady Eisner as ‘Teach’.” A sly grin crept on his face. “I was wondering if you could explain the nickname to me.”

“It’s just ‘Byleth,’ not ‘Lady Eisner.’ I believe she told you that,” Claude said, allowing a little more annoyance to slip into his tone than he should have. “As for the nickname, there’s not much to explain. She was my professor the year that I was at the Officer’s Academy. And I was never the type for formalities.”

Albert raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Ah, and here I thought that I had made up that detail,” he muttered.

“Why would you think you had made that up?”

Albert gestured down the hall, where Byleth was chatting silently with Marianne. It made Claude’s heart skip a beat to look at her, and with no small amount of annoyance, he acknowledged that she was likely having a similar effect on some of the other men and women present. “Most boys aren’t lucky to have a ‘Teach’ like that,” Albert whispered with a chuckle. Claude wanted to wipe that smug grin off of his face.

“You’re right,” Claude said. Albert blinked, then looked down at Claude. He clearly had been expecting an argument. But Claude wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He had to choose his words wisely, though. With an easygoing smile, Claude added, “I was very fortunate to have a professor as experienced, tactful, and caring as her. All of us students were. It’s why we all march under her banner five years later.”

“But is she truly all of that?” Albert challenged. “Or is it only in your fantasies?”

Claude’s grin widened forcefully, ignoring the implication of Albert’s question. “A warrior like her only comes once in a lifetime.”

Albert sneered. “Fine. Play coy. That’s what your known for anyway, isn’t it, Duke Riegan?”

He glided ahead of Claude on long legs that he could not possibly keep up with. If Albert had not stopped Byleth at the door, Claude was sure he would not have caught up at all.

“Perhaps the next time I see you, you shall be wielding that glorious relic gifted to you by the goddess,” Albert said. He kissed Byleth’s hand, his lips lingering on her skin just a moment too long. “Then I shall be able to stand in awe of both your beauty and your power.”

Byleth gave him the slightest of smiles as he let go of her hand. “Hopefully you find my power to be more impressive?”

Jealousy jabbed at Claude like a fistful of needles.

“May I call upon you tomorrow?”

“Actually, Byleth and I have a full calendar up until the roundtable meeting,” Claude interjected. He tried to keep his tone casual. “I am afraid there will be no time for guests.”

Not entirely true, but not entirely untrue, either.

Albert gave Claude a tight smile. “Of course,” he said. “The Sovereign Duke has much work to do as always.” He bowed to Claude and then to Byleth as they walked out the door side by side.

When they approached Claude’s carriage, Byleth looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “Was I too direct with Margrave Edmund at dinner?”

“No, I think he liked it,” Claude chuckled. “You proved to him that you can stand your own ground. If you’re going to back someone in a war, you don’t want them to be delicate.”

Byleth hummed in response.

A question was nagging at the back of Claude’s head, but he waited until they were both in the carriage and heading back towards his home before saying anything. “So,” he began, “you know Count von Lukas?”

Byleth laughed. “I am acquainted with him,” she said carefully. “As you heard, I did a job for his family shortly before going to Garreg Mach.”

Claude nodded. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m curious what he meant by saying he underestimated you before.”

“Oh, you caught that?”

“I catch everything.”

“That is true, isn’t it?”

“So are you going to tell me?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“That only means it’s something,” Claude countered. He did his best to smile.

Byleth playfully rolled her eyes. “He was talking about the time he. . . kissed me,” she said. Claude raised his eyebrows, ignoring the growing sensation of being picked with needles. “When my father and I did that job for his family, his father shorted our payment because the thieves we went after had already killed some of his sheep. Dad was furious, obviously. But he never yelled at clients with me present. Don’t know why, he just never did. So he sent me to the stables to prepare the horses. While I was in there, Albert. . . He said it was unfair for us to not receive our full payment. And while he couldn’t give me coin, he could. . . Well, he kissed me.”

Claude’s fingers flexed in his gloves.

“He wasn’t my first kiss, but I didn’t expect it at all. So I punched him in my shock. I think that’s probably what he was referring to.” She laughed softly, normally a sound Claude found so incredibly pleasant. But it was hard to enjoy when it was directed at Albert von Lukas. “I’m just glad I didn’t make an enemy of him that day. That would complicate things at the roundtable—What’s wrong?” Byleth wondered.

Claude blinked, then tried to smile as he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just tired.”

“Hmm,” Byleth said, sounding unconvinced. She stared out the carriage window, head resting on her hand.

“Did you like him, then?” Claude asked.

Byleth frowned. “I found him handsome. But I don’t think I spoke with him for longer than five or ten minutes when we first met, so I wouldn’t say I ‘liked’ him.”

“And do you find him handsome now?”

“Does it matter?” Byleth countered.

It mattered a great deal. But how could Claude possibly tell her that?

Neither spoke the rest of the ride. Claude didn’t like it. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the growing tension he felt in his chest. But anytime he opened his mouth, the image of a teenaged Albert stealing a kiss from Byleth came into his mind, and he clamped it shut again.

When at last, they made it home, Claude helped Byleth out of the carriage with a forced grin. “You did well tonight, by the way,” he said weakly. “Everyone was entranced by you. Having their approval will help with the roundtable meeting. . . But we can talk more about that tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning, Teach.”

“You aren’t coming to the library, then?” Byleth asked.

Claude stopped. Staying up reading in the library had been almost a nightly ritual for them since that first night in Derdriu. It was one of the few moments of peace that Claude found amidst the bustle of building the orphanage and assembling all of the nobles for the roundtable meeting. He loved those moments with Byleth. Loved how she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. Loved how comfortable it was to just sit and _be_ with her.

But he doubted he could trust himself to be alone with her when his chest was still prickled by jealousy.

“Well. . .” Byleth said, when Claude did not answer. “I’m still going to go there, after I’ve changed into something more comfortable. If you aren’t ‘too tired,’ feel free to join me.” She inclined her head then walked ahead of him. Claude opened his mouth then clamped it shut again. Then, with a sigh, he stalked towards his own quarters.

He got ready for bed slowly, mind still stuck on that singular image that made his chest tighten. Even when he tried to think of something else, his mind found a way to wander back to that image. 

“_Most boys aren’t lucky to have a ‘Teach’ like that_.”

Maybe Claude was more jealous than he realized.

With a sigh, he shrugged off his coat, hanging it up before changing into sleeping clothes, then he crawled onto his bed with a huff.

For what seemed like hours, he laid awake staring at the ceiling. Despite how weary his body felt, he could not bring himself to fall asleep. He was being foolish. And he knew he was being foolish. Nader had warned him that men would want her. And why shouldn’t they? It was truly a wonder that she had not been pursued more up until that point. Who wouldn’t seek the affection of a woman as strong and intelligent and beautiful as Byleth?

Why the fuck wasn’t Claude doing the same?

He shot out of bed, feet moving before his mind could form intent to his actions. Without looking around, Claude knew he was heading to the library. He wasn’t sure how he was going to tell Byleth how he felt about her, but he was going to. Because even if she would not have him, it would be better to be rejected outright before more men started flirting with her in his presence. But if she could have him, he did not want to give her time to change her mind. The only thing was, he wasn’t sure how he would express his affections in words, or if he was brave enough to do it.

But he stepped into the library anyway.

The fire was lit, burning warmly just in front of the sofa where Claude could see the very top of Byleth’s head.

“Hey, Teach,” he said softly. She didn’t reply, and his heart started racing. Slowly, he stepped closer to the sofa. “I-I’m sorry about how I was acting in the carriage ride.”

Byleth didn’t turn towards him. He rounded the edge of the sofa so he could see her face to face. Her head was lolled to one side, the book in her hands slipping off the edge of her fingertips. Dead asleep, in the middle of reading her book.

Claude huffed, unsure whether the prospect of not having to confess his feelings was relieving or frustrating. He chose to go with relief. Perhaps it would be better after some sleep. When he was more level-headed and could have the conversation with her in a reasonable manner. She still might reject him, after all, and that was better to deal with in the daytime.

A part of him wanted to leave Byleth in peace, but he knew that sofa was beginning to put a permanent dent in his back from the many nights dozing off on its cushions. And he was sure the same was true for Byleth.

Slowly, trying not to wake her, Claude lifted the book from her hands and set it on the end table. Then he shifted his arms under Byleth’s body to pull her closer, straightening up with her cradled in his chest. He needed to get Byleth to her room. But the halls were pitch black, and Claude doubted he could make it the whole way without a light. At least he knew how to get to his own room. There was sure to be a candle in there.

He tip-toed through the marbled hallways, shifting Byleth in his arms once more to turn his doorknob and open the door. Claude set Byleth on the bed. She had not stirred once, so he was confident that she was still sound asleep. But when he turned to light the candle on his desk, he heard her stir.

“Where are we?” she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep. The sound of her voice made Claude jump.

“My room,” he answered as level as he could manage. “I needed a candle so I could find my way over to yours.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. She was propped up on her elbow, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “Did I fall asleep in the library?”

“Yes,” Claude said.

“I thought you were too tired to join me.”

Claude smiled, his heart leaping into his throat. “No, just took me longer to get there than I intended.”

When he stepped toward her, she promptly dropped back down on the mattress. “Save us both the trip and let me stay here.”

“That is hardly appropriate, Lady Eisner,” Claude said with a low chuckle. He ignored the way her offer made his heart race. Especially considering what he had been prepared to tell her mere moments earlier.

Byleth shrugged lazily, wrapping her arm around the nearest pillow. “I don’t intend on being seduced,” she sighed. “I just don’t. . . have nightmares when you’re around.” Her eyes were silently pleading with him. “And walking sounds like such a chore after being in heels all evening.”

“Well, how can I argue with that?” Claude whispered. The way Byleth’s lips curled up at the corners when he walked closer made his chest warm. He still intended on giving her his confession. But it would have to wait until the morning. “Scoot over.” He settled on the bed, and Byleth rolled over on her side to make room for him. Claude pulled the blankets over her shoulders.

“Goodnight, Claude,” Byleth hummed.

Claude closed his eyes, longing to wrap his arms around her. “Good night, Teach.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude wakes up from a nightmare, and Byleth uses leverage to get what she wants out of him.

The blankets were wet. Claude shot awake, and his back was slick with a warm, thick substance. When he looked down, a pool of blood surrounded the bed. 

And it was rising. 

“Teach?” Claude called. “Something's happening. We gotta go.” He looked over at her, and she was still soundly asleep. “Byleth!” Claude barked. But she did not move. Claude groaned. He would have to pick her up and wade with her through the blood, which would only slow them down. It had already reached halfway up Byleth’s arms, lapping up her stomach. Claude put one arm under her neck and the other under her knees and lifted.

But he couldn’t move her. 

He tried again. 

Nothing. 

Byleth would not budge. 

He couldn’t move her. 

He couldn’t move her. 

The blood had covered her hair. 

He couldn’t _move_ her. 

It was washing over her lips, her nose. 

He couldn’t _move her_. 

She was writhing, gasping as she choked on the blood.

He _couldn’t move her_. 

_He couldn’t move her!_

She was _dying_!

“Byleth!”

Claude awoke with a gasp, shivering from the sweat covering his body. He looked over the edge of his bed, panting, not satisfied until he was certain the floor was clean and dry. Then, he focused on his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Until his heart was pounding no more.

Claude dropped flat backwards onto his mattress. Exhausted. And frustrated. It had been days since he found himself dreaming of things he would rather not dwell on. Of Edelgard attacking again, of not making it to Byleth in time, of her coughing up blood as he held her in his arms, her pulse slowing and her eyes becoming lifeless as he cried out her name. Of her being joined by their friends, lined up on an execution block to be beheaded one by one by Ferdinand’s corpse, Edelgard’s axe still hanging from his chest. Of Petra in chains, blindfolded and bloodied. Of the regret and emptiness of loss.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. A small part of him wondered if the events from earlier that night had somehow spurred up the dream. Of course, it went without saying that losing Byleth to another man was not equal to losing her to death. But Claude had learned long ago that the subconscious could not distinguish between such nuances. Loss was loss. And Claude couldn’t bear the idea of losing Byleth. Not after everything he had endured to come this far.

But gods dammit, he needed to get some _sleep_. If he didn’t get ahold of his dreams soon, he was going to end up like, well, Byleth. And she had barely adjusted to a fairly regular sleep schedule. Claude sighed again. Maybe there was a draft he could make that would knock him out hard enough to stop dreaming. Claude had a handful of old books on poisons still stashed away somewhere. Many poisonous plants acted as decent sedatives when used in small, controlled portions. If Claude could just—

“Can’t sleep?” Byleth whispered. Claude jumped, his body running cold. Because for a moment, he instinctively thought it was another woman’s voice he heard. One whose presence was more common in Claude’s bed. A woman near identical to Byleth in every way, save for the fact that the woman actually beside him did not love him like the other. She chuckled in the darkness, sending a pang in his heart. It was so different, hearing the sound in the confines of his own room. Too much of a reminder of why he feared her loss so deeply. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re okay,” Claude mumbled back. Byleth shifted, curling up along his side and resting her hand on his chest. Claude was almost surprised that he could feel her weight, her warmth, his brain almost too tired to remind him that she was physically present. Byleth, not Soleth. This was not a dream, after all. And though he missed his apparition, and mourned the loss of the moments he shared with her, Claude was still grateful that could to have a piece of her beside him. No. . . Not a _piece_ of her. Soleth was always a portion while Byleth was always the whole thing. Claude hesitated, then slowly moved his hand across his torso, letting the tips of his fingers brush against hers. Whole, and tangible.

When Byleth tilted her hand to hold his, Claude’s heart did little flips in his chest. “Bad dream?” she asked, and Claude nodded. “Wanna tell me about it?” He shook his head. Byleth sighed. “Does it have to do with whatever was upsetting you earlier today?” Claude opened his mouth. “And don’t you dare lie to me.” He snapped it shut again.

“Yes,” he admitted. “In a way, it’s related.”

“But you won’t tell me why?”

“No,” Claude said. Not in his bed in the middle of the night, at least. He still wanted to tell her how he felt about her, but. . . the current time and setting were less than ideal.

“I thought we agreed no more secrets?”

“This technically isn’t a secret.”

“Liar,” Byleth said.

Claude huffed.

“Thought so.” There was a beat of silence, then Claude heard Byleth. . . laugh to herself. She shifted so her chin was resting on Claude’s chest. “What if I were to tell you that you owed me a secret? Would that loosen your tongue?”

Claude frowned at her, though he doubted she could see the expression. The only thing visible in the low lighting of the room were Byleth’s eyes, her inhumanly green irises all but glowing. “I don’t owe you a secret,” Claude said.

If possible, Byleth’s eyes seemed to shine brighter. “Yes you do,” she said. The satisfaction in her voice instilled a small amount of worry in Claude, intermingled with confusion.

But he was curious.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why do I owe you a secret?”

When Byleth chuckled again, Claude wondered if he was in trouble. Her fingers tightened slightly around his. “Because you conned me into telling you one of my secrets the night of Judith’s feast, after you stumbled into my room drunk—“ Claude was definitely in trouble—“and tried to crawl into my bed with your shoes on.”

Claude stammered.

“Or did you think I forgot about that?”

“I—umm,” Claude laughed nervously. _Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit._ He thought he was in the clear. It had been nearly a _month_ since that night happened, with no mention of the night from her lips. No inkling of her remembering him coming into her room. Why—_why_—did she have to bring it up now? “Well, if I’m being perfectly honest—“ Claude was probably fucked either way, no reason to make an excuse—“I don’t remember any of that part of the night.”

Byleth tilted her head. “Wait, really?” There was too much amusement in her voice for Claude’s liking. He was starting to gain an understanding of why people didn’t like his teasing.

“I umm, I remember waking up the next morning,” Claude said with another laugh. “And I remember being scared shitless that you were going to wake up and think that I—“ he cleared his throat. “Please tell me I didn’t do something stupid.”

“Define ‘stupid’. . .”

“Teach, please, I’m begging you,” Claude groaned. “I’m already mortified! I’ve never done anything like that in my life and I don’t want you to think that I—”

“Oh, relax!” Byleth laughed. “The worst thing you did was try and fail to take off your boots on your own.” She chuckled to herself. “Not that I was much help.”

“I can’t believe that you have let me parade around thinking I was safe from this humiliation—“

“I’ve been waiting for the right moment to bring it up again.” Claude was suddenly very aware again of the hand holding his own.

“This is the right moment? Really, Teach?” His heart thumped a little harder for two or three beats.

Byleth shrugged lazily, her fingers flexing around his hand with the movement. “It’s the only thing I can think of to coerce you into telling me what was wrong with you tonight.”

Claude scoffed. “And you say I ‘conned’ you into telling me a secret?”

“Uh-huh,” Byleth said. 

“That hardly sounds like me,” Claude chuckled. He traced the side of her hand with his thumb.

“Ah, but you did,” Byleth sang. “You were supposed to trade a secret for a secret. I gave you a secret, and in return you gave me some bullshit about being the prince of Almyra.”

Claude’s heart felt like it stopped.

“Which, of course, is ridiculous. I tried to get you to tell me another secret after, but I think we fell asleep before—“

“Fuck. . .” Claude groaned.

“Are you okay?” Byleth asked. She shifted the hand that was intertwined in his. “If I’m teasing you too much—“

“No,” Claude said quickly. “It’s just, umm. . .” He tried to laugh, calculating his risk as he did so. “Shit,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. He sat up, releasing Byleth’s hand and running his own hand through his hair. It was too late at night, his mind too slow. But he knew if he lied to her and let her believe that his secret had just been a joke. . . Well, how could he expect her to not be angry after? _No more secrets_, he thought with an internal groan. “I wasn’t going to tell you about that until the war was over,” Claude told her. “But it seems that drunk Claude isn’t so good at keeping secrets.” He froze, listening, anxiously counting the seconds until Byleth shot up from the bed to match his position.

“Liar!” she accused.

“Teach, I would never lie about such a—“ he was cut off by a pillow to the face.

“Claude von Riegan,” Byleth chided. “This is not a funny joke.”

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” Claude asked. Byleth made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. “Why do you think I never told anyone where I was from? Could you imagine how many more targets I would have on my back if it got out that my father rules the land of the Alliance’s enemies?” He could just make out the shadow of Byleth burying her face in her hand as she groaned. Claude dropped back onto his pillow. “Jacobe Donovan tried to kill me five years ago because he resented that my mother ran away to be with an Almyran. He let me know as much himself with his dying breath.” He twisted the ring on his finger. “If anyone else in the Alliance knew I was an Almyran prince, I’m sure they would want me just as dead.”

“I knew you were Almyran,” Byleth confessed. Claude shifted as she laid back down beside him, his mind speeding up. How the hell would she know that? How the hell _could_ she know that?

Unless. . .

“I heard you praying the night Edelgard’s army attacked us. I know the rhythm of an Almyran prayer, I. . . I must have been taught it as a teenager.”

That didn’t make sense. Soleth never mentioned having learned Almyran before. She had always been eager, taking in each new word like a bite of dessert at a feast. How would it never come up, if she had learned the language before? And sure, Claude knew her memory had been spotty at best. Sometimes Sothis’s memories intermingled with Byleth’s, so it was sometimes difficult to even determine who knew what. Yet it seemed highly unlikely that in five years, neither half of her would recall that Byleth had been taught Almyran already. . . But it must have been true, right? Why would she lie about it? “Who taught you Almyran?”

“That isn’t really what’s important right now,” Byleth shot at him.

“I just never knew you had learned Almyran.”

“I—well, it’s not like it would have come up before,” Byleth stammered. There was a streak of defensiveness in her voice. “It’s not like you ever bothered to tell me that you’re a—that you’re the crown prince of—“ She huffed sharply. “You’re seriously not joking, are you?”

“I wouldn’t tease you about such a thing,” Claude repeated. He would have to ask her who had taught her Almyran later. It was unlikely he would get out of the whole “prince” conversation easily.

“You said you didn’t grow up like other nobles?”

“That’s because I didn’t,” Claude confirmed. “More than half of my childhood was spent in hiding from assassins. . . Hardly a life of luxury.”

Byleth stumbled over her next words, groaned, then tried again. “But doesn’t you being here leave Almyra without an heir?” Byleth asked.

“I mean, technically speaking, one of my cousins could claim the throne if there was proof that I willfully abandoned my position.” On that note, Claude would have to remember to make sure his letter back to his father had already been sent out. “But my original plan was to make my life here permanent while my sister stayed home to rule Almyra, remember? Hadassah and I wanted to unite the two halves of our people.”

“If the Alliance and Almyra could have sibling rulers. . .” Byleth’s voice trailed off. “You really do reach for the stars when you dream, don’t you?”

“You only accomplish big things if you dream big, Teach.”

Byleth laughed, readjusting so her face was closer to his. Gods, Claude loved her laugh. “Who knows about this? I’m guessing Nardel, given that he is supposedly a friend of your father’s?”

“Yes.”

“And Hilda?”

“_No_,” Claude emphasized. “Her brother guards the wall between our nations, that wouldn’t exactly be an easy conversation to have and expect her to keep from family. I wouldn’t put her in that position.”

“Petra?”

Claude suppressed a frown. “No. . .” he said. “But because of something I told her once, Edelgard figured it out.”

“Edelgard knows?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Why not expose you?”

“Because I was staying out of the war. It was the card she held to keep me submissive.”

“But what about now?”

Claude shrugged. “I’ve been keeping an ear out for rumors. Haven’t heard anything yet. Doesn’t mean it isn’t coming.”

He heard Byleth curse under her breath, then exhale slowly. “Now that I’ve unintentionally been brought into this secret circle, I’m guessing I’m not going to learn what was upsetting you now, huh?”

“Nope,” Claude said, letting his lips pop on the “p.” His lips curled into a smile. “If anything, you owe me a secret, because I have no idea what the hell you told me the night of the feast.”

“Can’t I just tell you the same secret?”

Claude scoffed. “No.”

“You wouldn’t even know!”

“Yes I would. And I’d be willing to be it wasn’t as juicy as mine?”

Byleth huffed. “No. . .”

Claude chuckled. “Then tell me a new one. Those are the rules.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re making this up as you go along?” Byleth teased. She sat up to leer over him. It was probably meant to be intimidating, but seeing as all Claude could make out was the boldest features of her face—even as adjusted as his eyes were to the darkness at that point—the view of her was more alluring than anything. Some of Byleth’s hair fell down her shoulder and tickled his face. He caught the strands with his fingers, lifting them up until the back of his hand touched her cheek, brushing across the soft skin to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You keep touching me,” Byleth whispered.

“That’s not a secret.”

“You never touched me before I disappeared.”

Claude’s chest tightened. He swore Byleth was leaning in closer. “Not a secret either, Teach.”

“Maybe the secret is I like it when you touch me.”

Claude’s fingers froze against the side of her face. His heart stopped, while his mind worked overtime to make absolutely sure that he heard her correctly. It was hard to tell for certain what she meant when he couldn’t see her face. But. . . There couldn’t be _that_ many ways to interpret “I like it when you touch me.”

As his tongue failed to answer, Byleth started pulling away from him. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she said. Her weight shifted. “Oh, goddess, I’m so sorry. I’m just tired, and—” Claude heard the padding of her feet on the tile as she started walking away.

“Byleth, wait!” he called, scrambling off the bed. She was difficult to make out, a dark silhouette against a slightly darker background. But he still managed to catch her hand at the door.

“Let me go, Claude,” Byleth said, her voice trembling.

“No,” Claude said, gently but firmly. He readjusted his grip on her hand so he could brush the edge of her palm with his thumb. He had to know. Had to be sure. “Why do you like it when I touch you?”

“I promised myself I would never rewind time to keep anything from you again,” Byleth said. Her silhouette still faced the door. “But please don’t add to my humiliation by making me answer that.”

Claude’s heart skipped a beat. His words still failed him, so he tugged at her wrist, prodding her to come closer to him. Slowly, her silhouette turned back around, taking two hesitant steps forward. The shine in her eyes reflected off trace amounts of moonlight in the room. Claude put his hands on either side of her face, and she sunk into him with a small exhale. It loosened Claude’s tongue enough to speak. “I was jealous when you told me Albert von Lukas kissed you.” His stomach flipped at his own words. “I couldn’t bear it when I lost you at the battle of Garreg Mach, and I told myself that if I ever got you back again, I would do everything in my power to keep you by my side. At first, it was just as an ally. A friend. But it wasn’t long until I realized I wanted more than just—” Claude cleared his throat. He chose his next words a little more carefully, trying not to ramble. “I keep touching you because being near you is a dream come true after a five year nightmare. The only thing I want more than for this war to end is to be with you.” Byleth was the epitome of a statue in front of him, neither speaking nor moving. It was only the warmth of the hand and the intensity of her stare that kept him going. “I couldn’t let you walk away without knowing that first. . . Even if I’m completely misunderstanding the situation and you don’t feel the same way about me.”

Byleth’s eyes stared up at him, wide and awed. Her breath was still shaking, but she felt less tense against him. “What makes you think I wouldn’t return your affections after what I just said?” she asked with a small laugh. Claude smiled in reply, his chest aching. He shifted his position, keeping one hand on her face as the other moved around to her back. The heat of her breath on his face when he leaned in closer only made his heart race faster.

”So. . . You like me?”

”Yes, you oaf. I like you.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” Claude asked.

Byleth reached one of her hands upward to touch his wrist. Her fingers were trembling. “Nobody’s ever asked if they could kiss me before.”

Claude laughed nervously. “Well, I’m asking you now.”

“I guess you are.”

Claude brushed his nose against hers. “Is that a yes?”

Byleth sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t know,” she said. Before Claude could lean away, she quickly added, “Not that I don’t want to, I—“ She huffed. “There’s something about kissing someone in the middle of the night, alone, in their room, that seems a little. . .”

“Suggestive?” Claude offered.

He heard Byleth chuckle. “Precisely,” she said. “And one of us has to be the responsible one.”

Claude touched his forehead to hers. “Yeah, I probably could have timed this better.”

“Probably,” Byleth agreed. “Though I won’t deny I have a part in this.” Her hand sought out Claude’s in the darkness, clinging to it as he continued to hold her. The warmth of her skin soothed Claude in a way that his words could never express. “What happens now?” she whispered.

Claude considered her words before answering. “We should get some sleep,” he said. “Talk about this in the morning when everything is a little more. . . Illuminated.”

He could feel her forehead wrinkle as her expression changed. “That would be best.”

“Want me to walk you back to your room?”

Byleth shifted, but didn’t reply. Claude leaned back slightly.

“Or would you rather go alone?” he asked. Again, Byleth made a move to speak, but didn’t. Her grip on Claude’s hand tightened, and he was more than a little relieved that she couldn’t see his amused smile. “You want to stay here.”

Byleth sighed. “I know it’s hypocritical of me.”

“I won’t deny you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Even though I—“

“Teach,” Claude chided teasingly. “My ego isn’t quite that delicate.” Not so much so that Claude couldn’t differentiate between rejection and proper timing, at least. He took a better hold of her hand then led her back to his bed, releasing her from his grasp so he could crawl onto the other side of the mattress. His heart still pounded, his body craving that closeness he had with her by the door. But he wasn’t stupid. Not entirely. Any attempt to touch her would only encourage his drive to have more of her. Byleth had been right. There was good reason to not kiss her in the dark behind closed doors.

Neither moved nor spoke for several minutes, but Claude could sense that Byleth had not yet fallen asleep. Then, the slightest of whispers uttered, “Tell me about Almyra.” The mattress shifted as she moved closer. “What do you miss about home?”

Claude closed his eyes, open to the distraction, and thought of the now-foreign land that had once been his home. What _did_ he miss about Almyra? What did he used to do with Hadassah that he could now think of fondly? He pictured her, recalling with fading clarity the afternoons they shared with each other in the wide open air. “I miss the plains,” he said. “I miss being able to look out on a wide expanse of land, to see miles beyond where I was standing without a mountain or a city obstructing the view. I miss exploring those plains with my sister to pick wildflowers on windy days. Almyra had a wildness that is definitely lacking in Fódlan.” Claude chuckled. “It made me feel so free. . . I can’t remember the last time that I felt free.”

“Hilda told me that you never left the Alliance’s capital once the war started in earnest,” Byleth told him. Her tone was more concerned than accusatory. “I can see how that would restrict your freedom. . . Even if self-inflicted.”

Claude nodded absently, smiling at the weak attempt at a joke.

“When will you be able to go back home?”

“When this war is over. I _have_ to go back to Almyra. Long enough to visit with my parents and pay respects to Hadassah’s grave, at least.”

“But not long enough to take the throne?”

Claude shrugged. “I’m not old enough, whether I want to take it or not. There are some inheritance-related affairs that I will have to see to while I am home, though, and I’m not sure how long that will take me,” he confessed. Byleth shifted closer again. “I haven’t given up on uniting both halves of my people. Not yet. Even if it means ruling both alone.”

Byleth’s hand reached out to him, resting against his palm. “So you won’t be gone forever?”

Claude rolled over to face her, squeezing her hand. “No,” he said. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.” Byleth chuckled in reply.

“Good,” she said.

Claude felt the urge to pull her closer again. To hold her against his chest and bury his head against her neck. To take in the scent of her skin as his lips traced along her—

He dropped onto his back once more, staring up at the ceiling. _In through the nose, out through the mouth. . ._ He scrambled for something else to say. Only one thought came to mind. “Who taught you how to speak Almyran?”

Byleth shrugged. “Does it matter?” she asked.

It mattered a great deal. “I’m just surprised. Not many Almyrans bother to travel this far west. Or are even capable of it. I’m wondering how you’ve managed to become close to not one, but two Almyrans in your lifetime.”

Byleth chuckled. “What makes you assume we were close?”

“It’s dangerous to be an Almyran in Fódlan, Teach,” Claude told her. “If someone trusted you enough not only to tell you they were Almyran, but to teach you their language. . .” He felt a pang in his heart. “They must have been really close to you.” 

Byleth didn’t reply, and once again Claude felt her hesitation. “Then I must be an asshole,” she whispered. “I don’t remember a single thing about him.”

“You remember he was a man, though.”

“I only ever hear a man’s voice in my memories,” Byleth said flatly.

“Well. . . That’s something, at least,” Claude said. He tried to laugh. “You remember what he sounded like.”

Byleth sighed. “I remember exactly what he sounded like.”

There was something in her voice. A sorrowful fondness, if he had to guess. A sad mixture of love and absence. And it made the ache in his chest _throb_. There was something more than what she was telling him. And the way Claude saw it, there were only two options. Either she had a deeper relationship with this other Almyran than she was comfortable admitting to him—that had somehow prodded her to be this secretive—or. . . There was only one Almyran to start with. “Describe it to me. Maybe that will spur something in your memory.”

“How do I describe a voice?”

“Compare it to mine,” Claude offered. “Was his voice deeper than mine?”

“No,” Byleth said immediately.

“Higher?”

“. . . No.”

There was that hesitation again. Claude’s curiosity mixed with excitement. “Friendlier?”

“Not particularly.”

“Sexier?”

Byleth scoffed. “Why do you care?”

Claude bit his lip, chewing on the words that had been about to escape his mouth. He mulled them over, weighed out the risks of flat out telling her the truth. Because she _was_ hiding something, one way or the other. And Claude wanted it to be that it was his voice she heard. Because he _was_ the one who taught her. He spent five years whispering with her into the night, on the very bed they were laying on. Speaking with her in his native tongue as well as hers. But. . . He understood why that would be difficult to say out loud. Especially if that was the only memory she had. And there was no way he could pressure her into taking that risk. Not alone. He knew how terrifying it was to see memories of events that never occurred. “Do you know where you were taught?” he asked.

Byleth chuckled. “That’s an odd question, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’m an odd man,” Claude told her.

Byleth hummed thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I only remember being in one place.” She laughed. “Which is a little funny, considering how often I traveled. It’s not possible to learn Almyran in a night, is it?”

_Far from it_, Claude thought. “Could you describe the place?”

Byleth rolled over. Claude could feel her breath over his face. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m laying awake in bed with a beautiful woman who I can’t kiss, and I can’t fall asleep.” He did his best to sound light-hearted, but his heart was pounding with anticipation. “Indulge me.”

“I can’t deny anything when you put it that way,” she chuckled. She took a deep breath. “It’s. . . a bedroom. A large one. To the right of the bed is a vanity with a mirror. To the left is a bookshelf stuffed with too many books. Between the two is a desk, and a small sitting area with a lounging sofa. And beyond the sofa is a set of double doors leading onto a balcony. Flowering vines grow on the bal. . .” Byleth’s voice trailed off. “Sorry. I’m probably rambling.”

Claude didn’t answer. He had heard enough. Wordlessly, he rose from the bed. Walked between the dresser and the too-full bookshelf. Sidestepped past the desk, then the sofa. His hands felt for the double door handles which he unlatched and pulled open swiftly. Moonlight poured in from Claude’s balcony, illuminating his room with a gust of cold air. He didn’t face Byleth. He wasn’t done yet. Instead, he walked back to his desk. Found the candle that he had been about to light to carry Byleth back to her room earlier that night. Lit the wick. And carried it back to Byleth. She hardly looked at him as she took the candle from his hands and rose from the bed.

“Is this the room that you remember?” Claude asked. He already knew the answer. But still, he felt anxious as he waited for her to reply.

“It is,” Byleth said absently, her eyes taking in the details of the room. When she looked back at him, her face held a hundred questions.

Claude answered none. He had one more question of his own that he wanted her to answer. “Whose voice do you remember?” he whispered. His chest felt like a thousand butterflies were flying beneath his ribs.

Byleth looked him up and down, her eyes scrutinizing. A level of understanding replaced the confusion in her expression. She stepped past him, lifting the candle to get a better view of the room. Walking between furniture, her free hand rested on the vanity, hovering just above the right-hand drawer handle. “Yours,” she replied. Claude released a breath he did not know he was holding. Byleth snuck a glance at him, then looked back at the drawer. She almost touched it, then let her hand drop. Then, she walked to the sofa, curling her feet under her torso as she sat down. “But that’s not possible,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” Claude whispered. “Take your time.”

Byleth looked up at him. Watched him silently as he took a seat beside her on the sofa. Carefully, he laced his fingers together and rested his hands in his lap. He didn’t trust himself not to reach out to her.

“I’ve been having these dreams lately,” Byleth began.“I. . . I see what I can only describe as memories of you that never happened. A younger you. Sometimes slightly younger, sometimes three or four years younger than you are now. Sitting with me in the dark—in this room—talking about anything and everything under the moon. . . Those talks include lessons in Almyran.” She side-eyed Claude. “But none of this is a surprise to you?”

Claude shook his head. “Only that you’ve managed to remember anything,” he said. “I gave up on that a while ago.”

Byleth nodded, unnervingly calm. Claude anxiously waited for her response, but instead she just sat there, eyes occasionally wandering around the room, then staring at nothing before wandering again.

“You must have questions.”

Byleth nodded. “Where do I even begin with something like this?” she asked.

“What about the beginning?” he offered. “It’s the long way, but it’s thorough.”

Byleth huffed. “We’ve got all night,” she said. “There’s a lot of gaps to be filled. . . If you can fill any of them, please do.”

So, Claude began. He described her appearances over the last five years in as level of a tone as he could manage. He knew it was very possible that Byleth did not share his excitement, understood how frustrating it could be to realize pieces of your life were missing from memory. When Byleth asked him questions, he answered in the same manner. Leaving nothing out. It was the least he owed her. The least he owed himself. The only exception was he avoided the fact that she had all but said that she loved him. That detail seemed. . . Unfair, somehow.

He managed to finish when the sky outside was turning gray, indicating that sunrise was near. “After I woke up, I realized that we were only weeks away from the reunion. I hoped it meant that you were going to return, and. . .” He shrugged. “Turns out I was right.”

“Turns out you were right,” Byleth agreed flatly.

Claude pressed his lips into a hard line. “You must be angry with me for not telling you sooner. I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

“I thought I would be,” Byleth admitted. “But. . . Logically I understand why you didn’t.” She gave a weak smile. “I can’t see me believing in a million years that I used to visit you in your sleep. That’s. . . A little incredible. Even for me.”

Claude laughed breathily. “Well, I appreciate your understanding.”

“I still have questions.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Claude said. Byleth’s head lolled, and she blinked slowly instead of replying.“But they can wait until morning. You should sleep,” Claude said.

Byleth’s eyes closed again, and this time they did not open. Still, she shook her head. “It’s already morning.”

“Ah, no. It’s dawn,” Claude corrected. “Morning is not until the sun is high in the sky.”

Byleth sighed. “That’s called ‘noon’.”

“Not today,” Claude said. He stood up, looping Byleth’s arm over his shoulder. “Come on, up you go.”

Byleth rose limply, allowing Claude to guide her back to the bed before crawling back under the covers. “We’ll talk over breakfast?” she asked.

“We’ll talk over breakfast,” Claude promised. He laid down beside her, closing weary eyes curled up on his side.

“Claude. . .” Byleth whispered.

He squinted one eye open. Byleth stared up at him. Slowly, she reached her arm out, extending her hand palm forward until it was half the distance between their bodies. Then she waited. So Claude did the same, reaching out his hand until it was less than an inch from hers. As was their ritual, so long ago. But this time, Byleth closed the distance between their hands, pressing her palm against his. Their fingers interlaced, and Byleth used the leverage to pull Claude closer. “Why are you not sleeping?” Claude asked lazily. Still, he wrapped his arms around her.

“Because I want to touch you,” Byleth murmured, lacing her fingers in his hair. “I’ve spent five years not being able to do so, right? Let me hold you while I sleep.”

Claude sighed, practically melting into her touch. “You’re so demanding.”

“Ha-ha,” Byleth breathed.

Claude closed his eyes, his body feeling weighed down. There would be much to discuss when they woke up again, but for the moment, he felt peaceful. And tired.

With Byleth in his arms, sleep came to him swiftly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gonna be a long note kids, so bear with me.
> 
> First off, I am so, so, so sorry that it took me so long to post this today. I can’t even begin to describe how much I fought with this chapter. I still don’t completely like how it turned out, but I’m not sure that I would ever be satisfied at this point. So. . . I hope you guys liked it more than I did.
> 
> On that note, my anxiety has been kicking up *hard* this week. I think the stress of all the pandemic BS has been too much on my body. I’m not sleeping, I’m not eating. And that’s probably contributing to why I fought with this chapter so much. I had a breakdown somewhere after lunch today, and I had to force myself to put editing down to keep from making it worse. So. . . I’m going to take a break this week. I need the mental rest. I don’t know what else to do. If I’m feeling better by Saturday, you’ll have a Sunday update as usual (and I’m REALLY hoping I can provide that). But if I’m still in this state. . . please bear with me as I take a mental rest. I’ll be back the week after, hell or high water. But right now. . . I’m so tired. I want nothing more than to give you my best. And I’m not at my best right now.
> 
> Thank you in advance for your understanding. I love you guys. Hopefully I’ll be back next Sunday.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between other activities, Claude and Byleth discuss what they’re going to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anything else, I want to take a moment to say thank you. The kindness and support you guys gave me after my last chapter helped me get through a shitty week. I don’t think I can properly say in words how much you guys mean to me <3
> 
> A little housekeeping, then the chapter:  
Clearly, I got impatient this week. So here’s the earliest chapter I could possibly give on a Sunday PST  
Next week should be a chapter in the early afternoon PST, as normal.  
The week after that, I will NOT be posting a chapter on the 17th, because my sister is getting married that day. I still intend on posting it later that week depending on my work schedule, so hopefully it will be out on the following Monday or Tuesday.   
Hopefully everything after that will be business as usual! As always, I’ll keep you guys updated.

Claude awoke to the movement of the mattress as Byleth left the bed. He blinked slowly, finding the light of the late morning sun too harsh for his tired eyes. He watched her silently as she walked around his room, touching furniture, books, and curtains with light fingers. “Is it strange that I know the feel of these things?” she asked. “I know that this shelf has a rough edge that wasn’t properly sanded, I know how far I will sink onto that sofa if I sit on it. . .” She glanced back at Claude. “It’s all familiar, even if I’ve physically never touched them before.”

Claude smiled lazily at her. “How did you know I was awake?”

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” Byleth chuckled as she lowered her gaze. “Shall we get breakfast?”

“It might be too late for breakfast.”

“We should speak to the guy who owns this place, then,” Byleth said teasingly. “If he can’t work something out for us, no one can.” Her eyes were crinkled, and the sight of her made Claude’s heart ache. “Come on, up with you.” She walked towards the bed, running her fingers through her hair to rid herself of the worst of her tangles.

“Fine,” Claude said, at last sitting up. “I’m sure I can wrestle up some charm enough to get you food.” Byleth offered her hand to him, and he took it, using her weight as leverage to stand up. Her fingers lingered on his for a moment, overwhelming Claude with the urge to kiss her.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“Good morning,” Claude whispered back.

Byleth blinked, then moved towards the door all too quickly. “Breakfast,” she repeated. “Then we need to talk.”

They walked together toward the garden where they had taken to sharing their mornings, and Greta quickly met them there with a bow. “Master Claude,” she huffed. “With how late you were out last night, I did not expect to see you at all this morning.”

“We weren’t out _that_ late last night,” Claude said with an easygoing smile. They honestly weren’t, but the reason for the pair of them actually being up late. . . Claude was fairly sure the servants were aware that that he and Byleth fell asleep in the library together most nights, but admitting to sharing his bed with her—well, even if nothing happened, the implications were more than he wanted to deal with. “We were hoping to have breakfast. If the cooks aren’t up for it though. . .”

“I’ll see what’s going on in the kitchen,” Greta replied. “It’s not quite midday, and this isn’t the latest we’ve seen you crawl out of bed.”

Claude chuckled. “Good thing my habits haven’t been forgotten in my absence.”

“Hardly,” Greta said, like a mother who wanted to berate her child. She bowed again then left hastily.

“What are the chances of her coming back with coffee?” Byleth asked. “I keep forgetting to bring it up.”

“In the middle of a war? Slim,” Claude said with a chuckle. “I think what I gave you a couple moons back was the last of what I had.”

Byleth sighed dramatically. “Some nobles have champagne. . .”

“And others try to fund a war,” Claude said.

Byleth rested her hands on the table, and Claude resisted the urge to reach out to her. Was it okay to act familiar with her? Would she think he was rushing things? Was she going to tell him that she wanted to pretend like the previous night never happened? And for the love of the gods, how much did she remember out of her missing memories? “How did you sleep last night?”

Byleth shrugged. “I didn’t,” she said simply. “My mind wouldn’t stop. And every time I closed my eyes another memory would—“ She pressed her hand to her head, exhaling sharply. It reminded Claude of how she would act when her and Sothis were arguing. When Claude reached out for her, she waved him away. “I’m fine,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt, it just. . . It’s like my head is stretching. It’s taking a lot of energy out of me.”

Claude nodded knowingly. “You should take the day off,” he said. “We already have a plan laid out for the roundtable meeting. There’s not much that needs to be done today besides paperwork, and I do that all on my own, anyway.” Byleth nodded numbly in reply, resting her forehead on her hand. Claude played with the ring on his finger. “So, does that mean you—What exactly do you remember, Teach?”

Byleth shook her head. “Just bits and pieces. But I know enough to see where there’s gaps in my memory.”

“And you said that you started regaining memories when you. . . heard me praying in my first language?” He had almost said, “When I told you that I loved you in Almyran.” Gods, he needed to be more careful. Anyone in his staff could pass by and overhear him easily. None of whom he trusted with a single word in that sentence. That, and. . . He was still fairly certain Byleth didn’t know what he had said to her. What it meant. And he was hesitant to know how she would react when she learned.

Byleth nodded. “Little flashes have been coming up more frequently since we came to Derdriu, though.”

Claude swallowed. He wanted to know what she knew. There were a lot of little details in those memories that were far more intimate than stolen kisses in the dead of night. And he was still afraid that she wouldn’t fully agree with the feelings she had expressed to him as Soleth. “Does that mean most of your memories are of me teaching you my language?”

“All of them are,” Byleth said. Then, she made a face. “Well, most,” she admitted. Claude held his breath. “Some are just of you summarizing whatever I had missed since the last time I saw you. . .” Claude was simultaneously more relieved and more stressed by that answer. “How long would I be gone, between visits?”

Claude pursed his lips together. He felt a little bad, but he was curious to see how much she actually knew of Almyran. So he answered in his native tongue. “_Somewhere between a few weeks to a month, mostly. Sometimes longer. The longest your were gone was nearly two years_.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow at him, the glint in her eye indicating she knew, in a way, that she was being challenged. “_Two years is a long time_,” she said, enunciating each word carefully, still foreign on her lips. 

Claude suppressed a grin, his ears going hot at the thought of how beautiful her voice was speaking his tongue. “It’s a very long time,” he whispered, switching back to Fódlan’s common language.

Greta returned carrying Claude’s tea set, and she set it on the table between them. The redness of her face indicated someone had just been barked at. Claude was just grateful it wasn’t him, for once. “One of the girls should be bringing food soon. . .”

“Thank you,” Byleth murmured, giving the middle-aged woman a tired smile. The pair waited to speak until she left again.

“You said last night that you still have questions?” Claude asked. “Probably best to ask them while they’re still relatively fresh in your head.” He poured hot water in each of their cups as Byleth picked out a blend of tea.

“I have one or two,” Byleth said with a sigh. She put her tea in the cup Claude offered her, then a small spoonful of honey, which she stirred in with a slow and careful hand. “Though the first one is more an. . . accusation than a question.”

Claude raised his eyebrow, urging her to continue.

“You were going to let me go,” Byleth said, so quietly that Claude almost didn’t hear her. She took a long sip of her tea. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger. “You were offering to let me escape, risking me never recovering any of these memories at all.” Her mouth tilted into a frown, and her eyebrows lowered.

For all it was worth, Claude held her stare. “That wasn’t an easy decision to make,” he said. “But you and I were on very rocky grounds when I gave that offer, and I had no way of knowing that you would ever regain your memories.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “In hindsight, I still stand by the choice. If you didn’t hate me completely, I at least had the chance of finding you again one day when the war was over.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. “You said you would take me where no one would ever find me.”

“I’m not no one,” Claude reminded her.

Byleth rolled her eyes.

A servant came by with a tray of food, and Claude gave her a thank you and smiled up at her. The girl’s eyes flicked to Byleth with an expression Claude could not quite place, before she bowed and left as Greta had before her.

“I would have left,” Byleth said. She picked at her fingernails. “It was too much for me, returning after losing five years of my life. Between seeing how you had hardened and the lingering pain of losing my dad and the guilt over P—“ She stopped herself, taking another long sip of her tea. “I couldn’t handle it,” she whispered. “If I hadn’t heard you praying in. . .your other language. . .that night that I was injured, I truly think I would have taken you up on your offer. . .” She looked up at Claude, scrutinizing his face. “I think you deserve to know that.”

Claude took in her words, yet his mind stuck on what she refused to let herself say. “Byleth. . .” Claude started. He chewed on his lower lip, feeling as though he was about to step on tender ground. “Do you still feel responsible for my break up with Petra?”

She didn’t look up at him, but she nodded.

“Why?” Claude asked.

Byleth shrugged.

“I never blamed you for her decision.”

“I know that,” Byleth said.

“Then why is it still bothering you?” Claude stared intently at her.

“When I first came back, you. . .” Byleth faltered. “You told me there had been no one since her. I always assumed it was because you hadn’t let her go.” She absently played with a strand of waist-length hair. “You were clearly lonely. Isolated. Hardened. To an extent, I felt like I bore responsibility for that. Because I was the one who convinced Petra to break up with you. . . Even if I didn’t know that was what I was doing.” Her hand rested on the table again, and this time, Claude did reach out to touch her.

“I was isolated because I chose to be,” he whispered. He stared into Byleth’s eyes. “And yes, I mourned Petra at first. But not long. Certainly not for five years, Teach.” A nervous chuckle escaped his throat. “But she isn’t the reason there was no one else. . . If anything, there was no one else because I had you.” Byleth’s eyebrows furrowed. Feeling his face grow warm, Claude gave her hand one more squeeze before releasing it, leaning back in his seat once more. “No one else could ever compare to having you beside me. I decided that years ago, and I have not wavered. . . I just had to hang onto the hope that you would return to me one day.” It felt nearly foreign, saying such words to her. Face-to-face, in the light of day. Even with Petra, he had never been so. . .forward. Ridiculous, yes, but never had he been like this. Yet, it felt worth saying. It needed to be said. He would not let Byleth leave the table thinking anything other than what he had just told her. That was worth any possible level of embarrassment his words could bring him. “Do you trust me on that?”

Byleth nodded, but her brow was still furrowed. “I have one more question for you,” she said. She tried to smile. “I don’t think it should be as. . . Uncomfortable to answer.”

“Anything,” Claude insisted.

“What does ‘_t’amr mura_’ mean?” she asked. Claude felt his face grow hot. “I heard you say it to me when I was in the infirmary.” And even hotter. So much for avoiding the conversation. “But the meaning of it. . .” Byleth looked up at him, and her eyes were scrutinizing. “I know it means something along the lines of ‘I give you my strength,’ but that doesn’t quite seem right for some reason.”

Claude gulped, but he did not avert his gaze, not even as he picked up his cup and took a sip of the tea in front of him. “Yes, the direct translation is ‘I give you my strength’,” he said slowly.

“But there’s another meaning to it, isn’t there?” Byleth’s eyes gleamed, and she leaned forward. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be so careful about how you—oh.” She blinked, and then straightened her back again. The slightest pink flush colored her cheeks. “I, umm. . . I think that one just came back to me,” she said with a breathy laugh. She fidgeted with a strand of hair. “Your people have quite a way of putting things. I never would have associated strength with. . .” She didn’t look up at Claude. “But I find it oddly fitting.”

Claude swallowed hard. “You gotta believe that I don’t expect—“

“I know,” Byleth said, cutting him off. She smiled, but the expression was tense. “And I want to make it clear. I. . . Care about you. A lot. But I still don’t fully know you as you are now, fragmented memory or otherwise. I’m not saying never, but. . . We have enough going on right now, you and I. The timing isn’t exactly right to say that I lo. . . I’m sorry, Claude.”

“For what?” Claude asked. His heart ached, just a bit. But at least she wasn’t outright rejecting him. No sense in sulking in front of her. “I’m well aware of the fact that I’m in this deeper than you are, and I. . . Byleth, I have _no_ expectations.” His face was still hot, and for some reason that made it more difficult to concentrate. He cleared his throat before he continued. “I. . . had resigned myself to the belief that you would never remember the time you spent with me over the last five years. And with that, I also decided that I was never going to tell you about Soleth unless your memories returned, because I never wanted you to feel like you had to be that woman for me.” Byleth’s stare locked Claude’s gaze in place. “I never wanted you to think you had to feel a certain way about me or act a certain way around me because I told you that the apparition that visited me in my dreams loved me back. I don’t want _anything_ from you if it isn’t genuine.” Claude reached for her hand, squeezed it once, then let go. “I won’t make you want me.”

Byleth looked at him pleadingly. “That’s not what I—“

“Kiddo!” Nader called. He sauntered into the garden with a casual grin on his face. Byleth grabbed at one of the breakfast rolls, occupying herself by prying it open and slathering it with butter and jam. Claude was tempted to do the same.

“Yes, Nardel, what is it?” he asked, trying to give the man an easygoing smile.

“I was surprised when I didn’t find you in bed. According to Greta, you two are nursing some pretty nasty hangovers.”

“Just tired,” Claude said flatly. Byleth hummed in agreement. Neither looked at the other. “Did you need me for something?”

“There are some nobles who came by asking for the goddess—“ Byleth tensed up at the word— “I told them to come back this afternoon, but I figured you would want the warning regardless.”

“She’s taking the day off,” Claude said plainly. “If they really want to talk, they can meet with me. Otherwise turn them away. It’s ridiculous that anyone is coming by this close to the meeting anyways when they can just—“ he sighed. “I’m too fucking tired for this. I’ll figure it all out after I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“Mind if I join?”

_I absolutely mind._ “Be my guest.”

Nader sat down and started filling a plate as Claude did the same. None of them spoke. Claude told himself it was because they were too preoccupied with the meal, though he knew that was far from the truth.

Nader, unfortunately, seemed of the same mind. He looked back and forth between Byleth and Claude as he ate slowly, a grin widely spreading over his face. His eyes focused on Claude. “_Tell me the gods have answered my prayers_,” he chortled in Almyran.

“_The gods don’t answer the prayers of pigs_,” Claude replied. He was unsure how much Byleth could understand, but he prayed Nader would have the sense to be vague, even if they were speaking in Almyran. Nardel started laughing harder, and Claude’s hopes diminished.

“_Perhaps I should tell the noble snobs to postpone the roundtable meeting. Give you both more alone time together._” Claude wanted to punch the smug grin off his face.

“_You aren’t funny._”

“_I just think you ought to get your fill after starving yourself for so long_.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

Nader’s grin widened. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. He stood up lazily. “_But we’ll talk later_.” With a not-so-subtle-wink, he walked back the way he came. Claude glared at his back the whole while. It wasn’t until he heard Byleth’s soft chuckle that he turned back toward her, knowing the annoyance and embarrassment was easily-readable on his face.

“I have to admit, I’m a little curious about what Nardel meant by ‘the gods have answered my prayers’?”

Claude chuckled nervously. “I thought you didn’t remember everything.”

“I remember enough to pick up words here and there,” Byleth said. Seeing Claude’s face flush, she raised her eyebrows. “What did he mean?”

Claude leaned his head against his hand. “Nardel has. . . He’s taken it upon himself to meddle in my love life.” He lowered his gaze. “He thinks we slept together.”

“Ah,” Byleth said, a little more amusement in her tone than Claude preferred. “I take it that he hasn’t been successful meddling in your love life before?”

Claude glared at her.

“Just a question.”

“I already told you there was no one.”

“Just because you weren’t in love doesn’t mean you never needed to let out steam now and again.”

“No,” Claude said flatly. “Too many risks in one night stands.” He looked back down at his food. “Not much of my style, anyway.”

Byleth chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “What about the blonde?”

“What blonde?”

Byleth raised her eyebrows, the smallest twitch of her mouth turning into a smirk.

And it hit him. The naked woman. The one that snuck into his room. Who kissed him. Who tried to sleep with him. He had nearly forgotten Soleth saw the exchange. Claude’s face grew hot once more.

“I don’t think that you _actually_ like me remembering everything,” Byleth said. If it weren’t for the smirk still on her face, Claude would have wished, for the first time in his life, that his food had been poisoned.

“I literally walked into my room and found her waiting for me. Never saw her before, never saw her after.” He shot her an exacerbated look. “And honestly, I’d prefer a change in topic.”

Byleth shrugged. She picked up another roll and proceeded to tear it open. “Then I’ll take the opportunity to tell you that you were wrong,” she said.

Claude frowned. That was hardly the change in topic he expected. “How so?”

Byleth looked at him intently. “I do want you,” she said, pink touching her cheeks. “You said earlier that you couldn’t _make_ me want you. Which is true. Except I already do. Not because you made me, but because I. . .” She gestured vaguely through the air. “But my past romantic experiences can be summarized by a handful of stolen kisses and a one night stand.” The flush on her face deepened. “I don’t know how to. . . How to be with someone longer than a moment. And I also don’t want to ruin our friendship by going into this too quickly. . . I’m just at a loss for what that means for us as far as what we do next.”

Claude nodded, pondering the unspoken question in her words. He took a piece of melon off of the large serving tray and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. “There’s not really rules for this,” he said. “Even if there were, our situation it a bit unique, compared to most.”

Byleth huffed.

“What do you _want_ to do?” Claude asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know,” Byleth admitted. “I mean, I know what I _want_, but there are. . . Other factors in our lives at the moment. And I’m not exactly at my best as far as mental clarity.”

“That’s fair, considering you didn’t get any sleep last night.” Claude tried to smile. “You should get some rest. Don’t worry about any of this until afterward. Then you can think about what you. . . What you want going forward. How deep into this you’re willing to go. With a clearer head.” He started to stand up, and Byleth caught his hand.

“What about you?”

“I already know what I want.” Claude squeezed her hand. “I have to get some work done, Teach.”

Byleth slowly let go, resting her hands in her lap. Not breaking eye contact with him. “And then?”

Claude raised his hand, lowered it, then raised it again, gently cupping the side of her face while he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll meet you in the library later today,” he whispered. After Byleth nodded, he headed towards his study.

Claude. . . did not get much work done. And it wasn’t just because his mind wandered endlessly to Byleth, to their last conversation, the way she looked at him as he walked away from the table, the way he wanted to hold her in his arms again. . .

No, it wasn’t just that. It was also the fact that, the longer the day dragged on, the more Claude realized how little sleep he himself had gotten. And that wasn’t good for his level of productivity. Not when there were responses to invitations to see to, when he had to analyze the language to see who had predetermined whether or not they would support Byleth, and who would need a little more convincing. Who belonged to which family, and what alliances each family had, and how Claude could use that to his advantage—

And so on. . .

And so forth. . .

It all required a fresher mind.

A less distracted mind.

Which at the moment, Claude certainly lacked.

When Nader walked into the office an hour before sundown, it was almost a relief.

Until Claude saw the look on his face.

He was already glaring when Nader sat in the chair across from his, arms crossed over his broad chest, and a grin wider than Claude had seen on the man in ages. “So, are you going to tell me now, or what?”

Claude scoffed. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“I don’t believe that for a gods-damned second.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I confessed my feelings for her under the moonlight, and we cuddled until morning?”

Now Nader scoffed. “You sarcastic shit,” he laughed.

“What makes you so sure I’m being sarcastic?”

Nader sighed. “Fine. Don’t admit it. But I already know you slept with her, so I don’t really get why you’re being so cryptic.”

Nader’s statement wasn’t technically wrong, so Claude didn’t bother correcting him. He doubted he would be believed, anyway.

“It’s not like she’s in the room to embarrass you,” Nader continued.

“That reminds me. She understands Almyran, by the way,” Claude said flatly, looking back at the papers in front of him. “She’s not fluent, but she knows enough. So keep your comments to yourself from now on.”

He couldn’t see his face, but given the silence that followed, Claude was certain Nader was stunned. “Since when?”

Claude shrugged. “Long story.”

Nader chuckled. “I see,” he muttered. The chair scraped against the carpet as Nader stood up once more. He took a step away from the desk, then halted. “I passed her on my way down here, by the way. She said she was heading towards the library, but I think she was looking for you.” Nader looked more serious than Claude expected when he looked upward. “Put the papers down, kiddo. You can deal with them in the morning. The hungry nobles will always be waiting for you.” As Claude gaped, Nader’s mouth curled into that shit-eating grin once more, and he sauntered out of the room.

Claude glared at the door as it closed behind him, then shook his head, looking back down at his documents. He was being prickly. And he knew it. He even knew that was just making his situation with Nader worse—the man knew how to nettle. But really, it was none of his fucking business what he and Byleth did. . . Or, in this case, _didn’t_ do.

Claude raked a hand through his hair. Words on pages swam together, straining his eyes as he tried to read. Because Byleth was waiting for him. And Claude didn’t want to look at those papers any longer. Sure, the work needed to be done.

But he would rather be with her.

After several minutes of trying and failing to get back to work, Claude gave up.He shoved his quill into its stand and pushed his chair backwards. Walking towards the door, hetried to steady himself. He was just going to talk with her. There was no rush, no reason to hurry for just a talk.

Yet the beat between each footstep was an eternity.

The door to the library was already ajar, so Claude nudged it open. Sure enough, he could see Byleth between the shelves, reaching up for a new book. “Too high for you?” Claude called, closing the door behind him. Byleth froze, slowly looking over at him.

“Wow,” she said teasingly. “And here I thought I would be on my own until well past sundown.”

“I was having a hard time focusing,” Claude confessed. He smiled nervously, taking a step towards her. Byleth’s expression was near unreadable. “Need help?” he asked.

Byleth looked back up at the book. “I was only grabbing it because I thought I’d have to wait for you. . .”

Claude’s chest tightened. “Does. . . that mean you’d rather talk?”

Byleth nodded her head. “I. . . Thought about your question from earlier today. About what I want to do, as far as you and I.” She glanced at Claude. “I’m _scared_, if I’m being honest. Our friendship has been tossed from side to side more than a ship in a storm, and it’s barely starting to stabilize. Adding another level of complexity to that. . .” Claude swallowed hard. “But. . . I still want to try,” Byleth whispered. “Because it would kill me to keep on pretending like I don’t. . . _Feel_ something for you. Beyond just being your friend.” She stepped towards Claude hesitantly, her eyes large and round, taking in his expression. She hesitated just before closing the space between them.

“You don’t need to be scared of me,” Claude assured her. “I’m not going to sway you one way or the other. If you want to take a step forward, we take a step forward. If you don’t, we don’t.” He smiled at her. “As long as you’re open with me about what’s going on in your head, I can work with it.”

Byleth’s cheeks colored a deep red, and she lowered her gaze. “I want you to kiss me,” she whispered. “It just seems like. . . an odd request to make of you.”

Claude stepped forward. “Not at all,” he said, his heart starting to race. Smiling, eager, he cupped Byleth’s face. She looked up at him once more. Claude hesitated, just for a moment, until Byleth nodded, before bringing her face closer to his own.

Byleth’s lips were soft. Far softer than Claude had imagined. She parted them slightly at his touch, tilting her head so his mouth fit better against hers. Claude sighed, all tension in his body melting with that single kiss. The kiss that become another. And another. And another. Until Claude’s back was pressed against the door and his hands gripped her hips, pulling her tightly against him as he continued to kiss those wonderfully soft lips. With how long he had endured the torture of not being able to even touch her, a single kiss was sweeter than the nectar of the gods. A dozen was even sweeter.

Byleth pulled away from him, panting. Claude’s world was spinning, but he managed to open his eyes quick enough to see her smile before she pressed her forehead against his. Slowly, Claude kissed her again, lingering to savor the feel of her on his lips. Byleth was still smiling when he pulled away. One of her hands reached up and tugged at his fingers, pulling him towards the sofa they had spent so many nights curled up on beside each other. Every few steps, she would encourage him with another kiss. Another touch to the cheek. Another tug on his shoulders.

And Claude followed willingly.

“Master Claude!” Greta’s muffled voice called from down the hall. Claude froze, looking into Byleth’s large, round eyes. He was sure the vague sense of panic he saw there mirrored his own. He removed his hand from her chest and drew it out from under her shirt as she unwrapped her legs from around his torso, lowering her feet onto the carpet beneath—when the hell had they ended up on the floor? Claude couldn’t remember. Regardless, he pushed himself off of Byleth’s body, praying they could maintain some level of dignity by at least making it back up to the couch before Greta came into the room.

They didn’t.

Claude and Byleth both froze half-crawl as the library door opened. They pressed themselves against the lower half of the sofa, Claude listening intently for the sound of footsteps. Yet none came. After a long, silent, agonizing moment, Greta sighed and closed the door again, her footsteps receding down the hallway. Claude looked at Byleth, her eyes still wide with fear, but now coupled with a smile on her face. She giggled, a rare sound. But a wonderful one. “Fuck,” she breathed.

Claude shared similar sentiments. He laughed nervously, sitting back upright and resting on his heels. “If she had walked around the sofa—“

“I can’t see her being calm and reasonable about seeing us—”

“Oh, certainly not. You should hear her talk about my uncle. She speaks as if each of his lovers were her own disgraced daughter.”

Byleth laughed a little louder, covering her mouth to stifle the noise. Then, she turned her body, resting her head and back against the lower part of the cushions. “Good thing we weren’t caught, then.”

“Good thing,” Claude agreed. He was panting, he realized, his pulse throbbing with adrenaline. Looking at Byleth—slightly disheveled but smiling at him like the goddess herself—sent an electric current through his body.

Byleth’s closed her eyes, taking a heavy breath. “I didn’t mean for us to keep kissing,” she groaned. Claude mirrored her position, watching as she pulled her waist-length hair over one shoulder. “But I’d be lying if I said I’d rather go about our evening, business as usual, than just keep going.”

“Yeah,” Claude sighed. “It’s almost as if making out is something people do because they find it enjoyable.” He snuck her a smile.

Byleth made a face. “Don’t know why,” she said teasingly. “I certainly don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m a horrible kisser?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll be fine with a little practice.”

Claude laughed, low and breathy. “Oh, thanks for that.”

“No problem,” Byleth laughed. Her eyes crinkled when she looked at him. And Claude almost—almost—kissed her again. But her smile began to falter.

He reached over and touched her hand. “Is something wrong?”

Byleth sighed. “Something about Greta walking in here, and what you just said. . . A thought crossed my mind. Not a very fun one,” she said. “But one we should probably take into consideration.”

When she did not elaborate, Claude shifted to a more comfortable position. “Come here?” he murmured. Byleth blinked, then nodded, scooting over until she was tucked under Claude’s arm. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“We might have a problem while we’re in Derdriu,” Byleth started. “We. . . have a public image to consider. With you as the sovereign duke of the Leicester Alliance, and me as the woman who became one with the goddess. . . At the moment, you and I are a team to the public eye, right? A united front against the Empire, fighting together for a noble cause.” She made a face at that. “But if we start having a relationship publicly, while I am staying with you in your home, what keeps people from thinking we are anything more than a noble and his mistress?” Acid spit from her tongue with the word. “I’m already in a precarious position. In my experience, men will find any reason to discredit a woman, and nobles will find any reason to discredit a commoner. And I am both. . . If we want these people to trust me enough to support me, I’m not sure how wise it is to be open about our feelings for one another. For my sake, and the sake of the war.”

Claude opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. He hadn’t considered the political implications of being in a relationship with Byleth. After all, how many of the same men and women that they were planning to meet had thrown their own unmarried daughter’s Claude’s way in hopes of him finding a match? He had to admit he saw the difference, though. Byleth had been right on both points. The women who were hoping to wed Claude had all been of noble blood, had some level of position. Which Byleth did not have. And additionally, none of them had been asking for anything besides the right to share Claude’s bed are bear his children. Byleth. . . At Claude’s request, Byleth was asking for thousands of men to risk their lives, and for supplies and armor to be put under her command. And while some of the nobles had seen her fight. . . Not all would get that opportunity before the meeting. And not all would think her skill with a blade would be enough, regardless. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Byleth looked up at him. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I should have considered that angle ahead of time.”

Byleth chuckled. “You aren’t all-knowing,” she reminded him. “And I’m not asking you to be.”

“Yeah, but I’m the schemer out of this duo,” Claude said. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Would you ever let me forget?”

Claude laughed breathily.

Byleth smiled up at him, taking his hand in hers. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “I think we just need to be strategic about how we behave towards each other for the next week or so. After the roundtable meeting, we’ll be heading back to Garreg Mach. And at that point, it doesn’t matter whether any of the nobles ‘approve.’ We’ll be too far away, and they’ll be too busy getting drunk in their mansions off of champagne, completely oblivious of our affections.” Her eyes crinkled. The urge to kiss her hit Claude again, but he leaned his head back. Now that this issue had been called to his attention, there were other things to consider.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t even think we can do that.” He felt Byleth shift. “Based on this morning, we’ll still have other nobles visiting my home over the next several days. Some who will bring servants, or stay as a guest for a night or two.” He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “It might be best for us to take a step back from each other, even in the house. If one of the servants catches on—or gods forbid, if we get caught—and if they gossip to the servants from another house. . . It might not matter how we behave in public.”

Byleth laughed darkly. “‘It might not matter how we behave in public‘,” she repeated with a groan. “In other words, it would be like going through the fucking academy rumors all over again.”

Claude raised an eyebrow at her. “Except it would be real this time,” he said, as much as he hated to do so. “And if you’re serious about keeping this quiet until after we return to Garreg Mach. . . We can’t sleep in the library anymore, either.” His hand tightened around hers. “Probably better for our backs if we sleep in our own rooms, anyway.”

“Probably,” Byleth said absently. She frowned, fidgeting with her hair.

“It’s just two weeks, right?” Claude asked. “Technically less, at this point. A week and a half. . . What’s two weeks compared to five years?” he breathed. “We can wait a little longer.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying that to Byleth or to himself.

Byleth smiled. “Then we’ll have something to look forward to when we get back to the monastery,” she said weakly.

Claude tried to smile back. This time, he did kiss her, short and sweet. Resisting the temptation to make it anything more. “I’ll savor that last kiss until then,” he whispered. He shifted to stand up, and Byleth did the same.

“What now, then?” she asked. “We’ve just ruined my intentions for the rest of the evening, so I’m at a loss for what to do.” Even with the light teasing in her tone, Claude could pick up on the remorse. But it was two weeks. Only two weeks. They would be able to manage. He smiled at her, as easy-going as he could, and squeezed her hand.

“We get some dinner,” he said. “We sit and talk, probably endure some of Nardel’s bad jokes, make fun of him as I escort you back to your room, then. . .” He leaned his forehead against hers. The beat of his heart put an ache in his chest. “I leave you there. Go to my own room. Pretend to get some sleep—“ Byleth chuckled—“And in the morning. . . We go to work. Like we’ve been doing every day until now.”

He watched her expectantly, and she huffed silently. “Do you really think we can do this?” she asked.

Claude pressed his lips in a firm line. “I think we’ll have to try.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days before the roundtable meeting, Claude and Byleth receive five dinner guests. Some are more welcome than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that things will get *slightly* sexier from here on out, but I promise not to go too overboard ;)

Byleth’s breath was hot on Claude’s face. The weight of her body on his set his nerves on edge, urging him to keep her close. After wanting to kiss her for so long, it was all that his mind could think of.

Pulling her closer.

Taking more of her.

More.

_More_.

Until he had taken everything.

Somehow, her body lost balance, likely due to the width—of lack thereof—of the sofa they had found themselves on. Regardless, she fell. And she tugged Claude down with her.

He hardly minded.

The pair laughed breathily at the blunder, Byleth’s nose scrunching up in an absolutely adorable way Claude had never seen before—not that Claude would say that to her. A bet was a bet, after all. He rolled on top of her, placing kisses on her neck and collarbone as his legs positioned themselves between her legs, taking in the smell of her skin as she sighed contentedly beneath him. Byleth responded in kind by tracing her foot upwards, caressing the back of Claude’s calf, his thigh, sending pulses of electricity outward from his spine. She repeated the motion with the other foot until they were interlocked around his back, pulling him closer.

Closer. . .

Claude—swelling up with warmth and desire—lowered his hand, tracing his fingers along the edge of her shirt. Byleth caught his wrist, and for a moment, Claude was certain that she was upset with him. He pulled back from her neck, looking into her eyes to gauge her expression.

All he saw there was want.

Byleth spread her hand out over his, pressing down so that when she moved his hand upwards, it moved between her skin and the fabric. Never breaking eye contact. Even though she was the one in control, Claude could feel her shiver with excitement. Claude’s heart raced as his fingers brushed over soft skin, indented with scars from so many battles over the years. Reminding Claude of the strength of the woman peering into his soul as she continued to guide him where she wanted him. Reminding him why he loved her.

When he cupped her breast, Byleth pressed down harder. But Claude didn’t need to be told what to do. He grasped her firmly, and Byleth squeezed her legs tighter around his body in response. The motion pulled Claude forward, and he was kissing her once more. Sinking into her. Savoring this moment that he had so often dreamed of.

“Shit,” Claude cursed under his breath. He set down his quill and lifted the paper up to air out the large, black splotch he had unintentionally made. He had gotten lost in thought again, and the letter would have to be rewritten because of it. No duke could possibly send out a letter with such a mistake. Especially not one making a request as large as Claude’s.

“What’s wrong?” Byleth asked absently, eyes still on the book she was reading.

“Nothing,” Claude lied. Because _everything_ was wrong. His mind would not focus. Every lapse of concentration brought his mind back to that night in the library.

The first night he kissed her. . .

The last night he kissed her.

“You’re getting tired,” Byleth said. “I would say that you need to take a break.” She glanced up at him pointedly, then back to the book. “But I know that would be wasteful on my end.”

“Keeping busy helps me,” Claude replied, shooting her a grin. He was trying to be casual about the whole thing—keeping up with his teasings and his grins so nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

But Byleth knew what he meant by those words. Knew what thoughts he was trying to avoid.

Claude turned back to his work. He wasn’t in the mood to rewrite the same letter, so instead he picked up the next one on his pile, hoping that a fresh set of words would bring him back into the present. The decision turned out to be a good one. A grin spread from ear to ear when he read the acceptance letter, confirming the attendance of House Goneril at the round table meeting. Signed by their youngest—and only—daughter. “What?” Byleth asked again, this time sounding a little more curious.

“Hilda’s coming by,” Claude said. “From the sound of this letter, she and her brother might be here before the sun even sets.”

“Today?” Byleth asked. Claude expected her to be happy—excited, even—but there was an edge to her tone.

Claude gave her a confused grin. “Are you nervous about seeing Hilda?” he asked.

“I am,” Byleth replied quickly. “It’s just. . .” Claude’s smile faltered when Byleth looked up at him with a strained expression. “If she’s here then. . .” Her lips curled upwards, “who ever is going to finish all of your paperwork?”

Claude glanced at the door. It was slightly ajar, but not enough for anyone outside of his study to be able to see inward. Besides, no one ever came by to see them mid-afternoon. It was worth the risk. And Claude couldn’t bear Byleth’s chastising any longer. She had to be taught a lesson. Turning back to her, he grinned wickedly. He threw his papers down on his desk and stalked towards her. “Claude,” Byleth said warningly. “What are you doing? Don’t you dare, don’t you—Claude!” She squealed as he pounced on her, poking her ribs and stomach.

“Say you’re sorry!” he demanded, laughing at the way Byleth squirmed and giggled.

“No!” she said, playfully hitting him with the book. “You’re just mad—ah!—because I’m—stop it, Claude!—because I’m right!” They fell off the small sofa, with Claude on his back and Byleth on top of him. She pinned his hands over his head. “Just admit it. You’re over-deflecting your emotions by throwing yourself into your work. Not that I should be surprised, really. It’s a wonder how you became a workaholic when the war started.” She shimmied her shoulders, and it moved her body against Claude’s in an all-too unfair way that made Claude wish _he_ was the one doing the pinning at that moment. “Frankly, I’m surprised you can function at all without me around to remind you to have some play time.”

“Except in this instance, I’m pretty sure it’s playing with you that’s my problem.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but between the growing heat where Byleth sat firmly on him and the struggle not to look down at the bare expanse of Byleth’s inner thighs spread over his torso. . . Claude found that his words failed him. Byleth swiftly moved one of her hands down and squeezed his ribs, causing him to squirm.

“Jerk,” she said teasingly. When she looked in Claude’s eyes, her smile faltered, replaced by a sense of urgency that Claude found he could not resist. Keeping Claude’s hands pinned, she kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth as her free hand traced down the side of his tunic. Claude lost all sense of caution. He rolled his hips upward, and Byleth made an eager noise in response. Her hand reached the edge of his tunic, lifting up the fabric to touch the bare skin beneath it.

“So much for being careful,” Claude panted. Byleth released his hands, leaning back briefly to pull the fabric over his head.

“Shut up.”

Claude’s shirt was off, and he was working on putting her clothing on the ground beside him. Byleth’s hands fumbled between them to undo the ties of his pants in response. Claude’s body felt hot, desire filling him as her hands trailed lower, grasping onto—

“Next time, I really recommend locking the door.”

Byleth gasped, pushing herself off of Claude’s body. She threw up her hands before Claude had a chance to look back and respond to the smug-ass look

On

Nader’s

F

A

C

E

E

C

A

F

S’redaN no kool ssa-gumsehtotdnops—

Turning back to her, he grinned wickedly. He threw his papers down on his desk and stalked towards her. “No,” Byleth said, her voice all-too serious. Claude faltered. Something in her mood had changed from a only moment ago.

“Is everything—“

Byleth held up a finger, leaning her head towards the door. “Sit,” she said. Claude did as he was told. He watched her for several moments, but when her eyes did not leave the doorway, he looked in the same direction expectantly.

“Hey, kiddo,” Nader called, stomping confidently into the office. “You have some unwanted guests in the lobby.”

Claude and Byleth briefly shared a look before Claude looked back to Nader, a casual smile on his face. “Hilda and Holst announced their arrival. They are more than welcome to stay here.”

Nader halted. “Huh? Oh, the pink-haired kids. Yeah, they’re here too. How did you know?”

Claude tilted his head. “Who were _you_ talking about, then?”

“That count with the stick up his ass and his son with a slightly smaller stick up his ass.”

“Gloucester?”

Nader snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that’s the one!”

“They can stay, too,” Byleth interjected. She looked pointedly at Claude, then turned back to Nader. “Lorenz is a friend.”

Nader nodded as he made a face. “They brought someone else with them, some distant relative. Albert von Something or Other. Should he get the same offer?”

Claude suppressed a frown. “Why is he at my house?”

Nader’s smile widened. “To see the goddess reincarnated, if I had to guess,” he replied, pointing a finger over Claude’s shoulder. “Just another greedy bastard wanting a taste of her before the roundtable meeting.”

Claude tried to suppress a groan, but he must not have done a good job. Byleth shot him a glare, and Nader raised his eyebrows.

“Want me to turn him out?” he asked.

“No, no,” Claude replied. He could not think of a logical reason to allow the others to stay while making Albert leave. And he did not want the man to get offended, then take out his offense at the roundtable meeting. Or on Marianne. “Offer for him to stay for dinner and have Greta prepare rooms for the night. I only expect the Gonerils to accept the offer to stay, but I’d rather be prepared if possible.”

Nader looked back and forth between Byleth and Claude, one eyebrow cocked.

“We’ll be out shortly to greet them.”

Claude hated the smug look on Nader’s face. “Sure thing, kiddo.” He chuckled to himself as he walked out the door.

Byleth let out a sigh when he left. “You could have been more subtle about your distaste for Albert,” she said. “I hope you don’t think you need to dislike him for my sake.”

Claude didn’t take the bait. “I missed something, didn’t I?” he asked.

“When?” Byleth asked.

“When I stood up and you told me to sit back down. Just before Nardel came into the room.”

Byleth turned bright red, then slowly put down her book. “What do you remember?” she asked in a way that confirmed Claude’s suspicions.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Interesting,” Byleth murmured.

“What did I miss?”

Byleth snuck a look at him. “Nardel walking in on us. . .”

“Walking in on us. . .?”

Byleth shot him a look.

Claude flushed.

“Yeah, I was trying to save you from that. . .”

Claude cleared his throat, willing himself not to wonder too deeply what exactly had transpired. “You can’t do that,” he murmured. He ran a hand through his hair. “Please don’t keep things from me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Not again. I deserve to know if you’ve changed something involving me.”

Byleth averted her gaze. “I know,” she whispered. “It was a knee-jerk reaction.”

Claude chuckled half-heartedly. “In a way, I should thank you. Had it been anyone else—well, regardless, I’m really not in the mood to deal with anyone knowing about us.”

Byleth nodded. “It’s more difficult to stay away from you than I anticipated. . . Especially with my emotions amplified.” She snuck a glance at him. “I though it would be more difficult to keep your hands off of me, but it’s looking more like it might be an even struggle.”

Claude played with the ring on his finger. “We can survive a few more days,” he assured her.

“It hardly feels like it.” Byleth stood up, stretching her shoulders. “Let’s go meet up with our guests. They’ll be wondering where we are.”

They walked side by side to the entry hall, where Holst and Hilda were talking lightly with Nader. Claude’s retainer looked nervous, no doubt after facing Holst in near-battle not one month prior. Even if he had worn a helmet, there was always the chance of being recognized. But. . . As Claude’s retainer, he could hardly run. Claude held his head high, smiling widely. “Hey, Hils,” he called, spreading out his arms. “How was your journey?”

“It was fine,” Hilda replied politely. “If not a little dull.” She gave Claude a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, a stark contrast to her usual greeting of literally flinging herself into Claude’s arms and propelling him several feet backwards from the impact. Claude wondered what could be bothering her. “I saw Count Gloucester at the stables. Will he also be joining us for dinner?”

Claude raised his eyebrows, analyzing her appearance. She was covered head to toe in conservative riding clothes, with her hair pulled back in a simple bun. She wasn’t even wearing much makeup. Hardly like her. Gods, she must have really been worried about seeing Lorenz’s father.

“Yes, he and Lorenz will both be here tonight. And Albert von Lukas. Though I am not sure where the three of them are now.”

“I had Greta show them shown to their rooms,” Nader answered. He was careful to keep his back to Holst, as if he did not want the other man to get a good look at his face. “The younger Gloucester said he would join you guys soon, but based on the look on his father’s face, I wouldn’t be surprised if Count Gloucester slept the afternoon away. I’m not sure about the third—” Claude shot him a look—“About Count von Lukas.”

Hilda seemed to visibly relax at his words.“Thank the goddess,” she groaned. “I was hoping to get some down time in before Daddy Nightmare came in to ruin everything. I suppose I’ll have to make due with him taking a nap. The old vampire would do me a great service if he decided not to wake up, though. . .”

Holst glared daggers down at her. “Hilda, that sort of language is not only highly inappropriate, but borderline treasonous.”

“It’s not like I’m threatening him!” Hilda argued. “I’m just stating my opinion. Goddess, Holst, when did you stop learning how to take a joke?”

“How did you end up like this?”

“Poor parenting?” Hilda offered. She turned back to Byleth, who embraced her.

“How have the last few weeks been for you?”

“Boring as fuck,” Hilda sang. Holst rolled his eyes. “My dear brother still hasn’t forgiven me for running away to join the war. And he seems to think talking with you will somehow get you to send me back home with my tail between my legs.”

“Then he is sorely mistaken,” Byleth replied. “I already had the same discussion with Margrave Edmund. I am not your professor anymore, and I have no authority to tell you whether to go or stay.” She turned to Holst and extended her hand to him. “Based on the family resemblance, I assume you are Holst? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I have heard much about you, Lady Eisner,” Holst replied as he took her hand. “I have been eager to meet the woman who has merged with the goddess for myself.” Claude saw Byleth’s back tense.

“Just Byleth,” she said flatly. “I’m a mercenary, not a goddess.”

“Not the way your old students talk about you,” Holst said with a laugh. “When Hilda first returned home from the academy, I nearly thought she had been taught by Sothis herself. I am honestly a little relieved to see that you are just a woman. A beautiful woman, but nothing more.”

“Now you’re the one being rude!” Hilda chided. She turned back to Byleth effortlessly. “Though I will agree with my brother on one thing: I’m very into your whole look right now. Not that you aren’t hot normally, but the city’s style suits you!”

Claude shot Hilda a glare.

“Yes, Claude has been insistent that I look the part if so many nobles are to travel to see me.” She was teasing, but Claude still felt his ears grow warm. Fortunately before Hilda could dig into him, Holst cleared his throat.

“Forgive me,” Holst said, his eyes not leaving Byleth’s for an instant. His gaze was calculating. “I do not mean to be so forward, but I was wondering if there would be an opportunity to challenge you to a duel? I have heard much of your skill, and—“ His eyes were eager. Claude suppressed a frown. “I confess that I am eager to see it in action.”

Hilda dramatically rolled her eyes. “Seiros, Holst! You can’t just walk into here and challenge her to a duel! Really, dear, it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Oh, I expected this from him,” Byleth said assuredly. Claude detected a hint of excitement in her tone. “I’ve heard much of your skills as a fighter, and a warrior only trusts what a blade can tell them. Am I right?”

Holst chuckled. His eyes still held that calculating look, though now they were more eager. “I could not have said it better myself.”

“Shall we use real blades, or would you prefer the safety of a training weapon?”

Now Holst laughed in earnest. Hilda shot Claude an amused grin, but Claude was not so sure he shared the sentiment. “Real weapons. I would also like to see your legendary blade, if you are not opposed to it.”

“I would like to join in this, if no one minds.” Claude ensured he was wearing his carefully-practiced smile when he turned towards the direction of Albert von Lukas’s voice. The taller man stepped down the stairs from Claude’s guest wing, eyes focused intently on Byleth. “After all, Lady Eisner, it has been years since I have seen you in action. And it had been at a considerable distance.” He took her hand and kissed it in greeting. “You must be a wonder to see at a close distance. If that is not a bother.”

“Not at all,” Byleth laughed. “Perhaps we can all spar in the morning? I imagine you are weary from your travels.” She turned back to Holst. “And if I’m going to beat you, I want you at your best. It’s only fair.”

Hilda groaned dramatically. “Byleth, please. You’re going to give him a hard-on for you.”

“Hilda,” Holst hissed.

Albert chuckled. “It has been a long while, Lady Goneril. But your honest tongue is refreshing as always.” He bent down to kiss Hilda’s hand, as well.

“Someone has to shake things up in noble circles,” Hilda said. Her smile was kind, but her eyes shot daggers. “I hear you have been taking up much of my dear friend’s attention since you arrived in Derdriu.”

“Hardly,” Albert laughed. “I have only seen Lady Eisner once before, since arriving here.”

Hilda’s eyes narrowed, her smile tightening. “Actually, I was talking about Miss von Edmund.”

Albert went a shade more pale, and he laughed nervously. “Yes. Of course. Miss von Edmund. I have seen much of her these last few days. In fact—ah, cousin! All settled, I see?”

Lorenz, stepping down the same set of stairs, smiled weakly. He touched the bandage at his throat as he did so. “Yes,” he rasped. “And eager to relax with friends.” Claude and Byleth exchanged a look. He had not expected Lorenz’s voice to sound so. . . Weak. Not after weeks of recovery. Lorenz bowed to Claude and Byleth smoothly. “Thank you for having us here. . . on such short notice. I would have written ahead of time, but. . . my father did not tell me he wished to meet. . . our old professor until we were in the city.”

“It’s not a problem,” Claude told him, still smiling. “The more the merrier.”

Byleth rested her hand on Lorenz’s shoulder. “How’s your throat doing?”

“Better,” Lorenz replied hoarsely. “Ignore the way I sound. The pain has mostly subsided. . . Sometimes, I get into a fit of coughing, but. . .” He tried to smile wider. “It’s nothing.”

Byleth hardly looked convinced, but Lorenz was already turning to Holst, who he gave a short bow, followed by Albert. When he looked at Hilda, his entire countenance softened. “Did you just arrive, Lady Goneril?” He took her hand and kissed it gently.

“Just a few minutes after you, I think,” Hilda answered. Her face was filled with worry, despite how level her voice was. She blinked, and the worry was gone, replaced by a large smile. “And if you’re ready, I think we should all have tea in the courtyard. It’s such a lovely day, and we have an hour or so before we should change for dinner. Claude, sweetie, will you be a dear and lead the way?” She effortlessly looped her arm through Claude’s, more leading him to his courtyard rather than the other way around. “Why did Daddy Nightmare have to invite that von Lukas asshat? I know they’re like, second cousins or some shit, but he’s really going to put a damper on my mood,” she hissed when they were out of earshot. “Marianne has been writing letters complaining about him for days now. She isn’t really going to marry him, is she?”

“It didn’t seem like it when I talked to her the other day,” Claude whispered back. “But I’ll be happy when I don’t have to see him anymore.”

Hilda snickered. “Is it because he keeps making bedroom eyes at Byleth?”

“Hush,” Claude laughed. He pressed a kiss to her cheek then kept walking.

“We’ll have to catch up later in private.”

“By which you mean shit-talk him?”

“Oh, you know me so well.”

Claude ran into Byleth in the hall on his way to the dining room. He watched her carefully, stepping down the stairs in a simple floor-length dress.

“Are you ready for dinner?” Byleth asked as she approached him. “Because I’m a little nervous about it.”

“Why?” Claude asked.

Byleth raised her eyebrows, the slightest amused grin on her face. Still, her voice was barely above a whisper when she replied. “You don’t exactly paint a pretty picture of Lorenz’s father, and Albert. . .” Claude frowned, and Byleth shot him a look. “I’m wary that he wanted to see me again so soon. And no, I’m not just saying that for your sake.”

Claude playfully rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Count Gloucester will like you just fine. And don’t worry about Albert—“ Claude cleared his throat when Byleth raised her eyebrows at him. His volume lowered. “I’m not a complete mess, you know. I can handle myself.”

“If you say so. . .” Byleth hummed. She shifted her weight, playing absently with the gold bangle on her wrist.

“We should get this cleaned,” Claude told her, brushing his knuckle against the bracelet. “Do you ever take it off? It certainly looks like it’s seen better days.”

Byleth looked up at him. “Hardly,” she admitted. Claude chuckled.

“Let me see it, Teach,” he said. Byleth frowned, but she removed the bangle. Claude thumbed one of the prancing stags that was etched into the side. Still visible, if no longer shining. “I’ll find Greta and ask her to have this polished. You’ll have it back and looking like brand new by the meeting.”

“Thank you,” Byleth said. “That was a precious gift from a friend, so you better take care of it.” She smiled at him, a slight flush on her cheeks. “I’ll meet you in the dining hall, then,” she said as she walked away.

Claude smiled after her, then headed towards the kitchens where Greta would no doubt be barking orders at the cooks. Dinner guests always stressed the poor woman out. Claude absently turned the gold bangle over and over again in his hand.

“Ah! Master Claude!” Greta shouted when he reached the kitchens. She squeezed past servants and cooks who bustled about, giving commands as she went. “You should be joining—too much salt, dear—your guests, not slumming around here with—careful no! That’s porcelain!—with the workers.”

“I actually needed to speak with you for a minute,” Claude said with a laugh. He pulled the graying woman into the hallway just out of the kitchens so she could hear him better. When he had her full attention, he handed her the golden bracelet. “Can you have this sent to be cleaned up?”

Greta looked at the piece of jewelry with open shock. “This belonged to your uncle!” she said. “I haven’t seen it in so long. Where did you—why is it so dingy?!”

“Teach wears it lovingly,” Claude said with a chuckle. Greta looked up at him with a raised eyebrow at Byleth’s nickname.

“I thought I recognized the bracelet she wears, but I never bothered looking at it closely. I guess I didn’t realize you were the kind of man to give priceless family heirlooms away so flippantly.”

“It wasn’t flippantly,” Claude argued. “And it’s been in her possession for years now, I can hardly stake claim on it anymore.”

Greta said nothing in retort, snatching the bangle from his hands. “Then I shall see it gets back to her looking like new.” The look on her face said that she still disapproved. “Go on now, shoo. Enjoy your dinner and our guests, Master Claude. Food will be coming in right behind you.”

“Thanks, Greta,” Claude said, walking away as she went back into the kitchens. He sighed to himself. _Now for the difficult part of the evening._

Everyone else was already waiting for Claude when he stepped in the smaller of his dining halls, sitting at the table dressed in fine clothes. Hilda sat across from Lorenz, still wearing a modest dress and a neckerchief, her hair still in the simple bun. Beside her was Holst, who sat beside Albert, and between him and Count Gloucester at the end of the table was Byleth. Claude did his best not to stare at her as he took his seat on the opposite end of the table.

“I see arriving on time is difficult even in your own home, Duke Riegan,” Count Gloucester said pointedly. 

“Sorry,” Claude said. “I had some business to take care of before dinner.” He hoped his tone was apologetic. _You can play nice for one evening_, he reminded himself. 

“That seems to be a trend with you,” Count Gloucester muttered as he took a sip of the wine in front of him. “Always busy, but never getting anything done.”

Claude’s smile nearly slipped into a glare.

“Father,” Lorenz whispered, his voice tense. “Please, this isn’t a round table meeting. We are here as guests.”

“Yes,” Hilda chimed in, batting her eyelashes. “I am sure, Count Gloucester, that you came here for the same reason my brother did. To meet our esteemed professor, at last.”

“Humph,” Count Gloucester replied, hardly looking at her. Now that everyone was seated, a row of servants came in with trays of food, halting the conversation for the time being. Hilda briefly looked at Claude and rolled her eyes, while Lorenz avoided looking at anyone altogether. “My son does have quite a bit to say about you, Lady Eisner,” Count Gloucester said after everyone had started eating. Byleth briefly met Claude’s eyes. 

“Just Byleth,” she replied, her eyes crinkling slightly. She looked up at Count Gloucester and Lorenz. “Hopefully he says all good things.”

Lorenz chuckled. “Of course,” he rasped, trying to stretch his voice to full volume. “Would I ever say anything else?” 

“He tells me that your current appearance is a sign of your apparent soul-merging with the goddess. Is that correct?”

Hilda took a long sip of her wine at the word “apparent.”

“It is the truth, Count Gloucester,” Albert interjected. “When I first met Lady Eisner, her hair and eyes were both a dark shade of blue.” He chuckled. “Which is clearly not the case anymore.”

Count Gloucester leaned forward, his expression hungry in way Claude could not place. He did his best to focus on the food on his plate.

“I was unaware that the two of you were acquainted,” he said carefully.

“We met once before,” Byleth explained. “When my father and I did work for the late Count Lukas.”

“Your father the. . . mercenary, correct?”

“Yes,” Byleth said.

“The one who was murdered by a teenaged girl just before the war started.”

Claude could see Byleth’s knuckles go white. “Yes,” she replied more tightly.

“She was not just a teenaged girl, Count Gloucester,” Hilda corrected. Her smile was bright, but the glint in her eyes spoke of an undercurrent of impatience. “Our class pursued and fought her after Captain Jeralt’s murder. She had fooled all of us into thinking she was another student, but in reality, she was an assassin by the name of—“ he words faltered, and she gave a small smile. “Sorry, in five years, I can’t seem to remember—“

“Kronya,” Byleth said, not looking up from her plate. “Her name was Kronya.” Her voice was tight, and Claude found that the grip around his own utensils was tightening at the turn in conversation.

Count Gloucester shifted in his chair. “This is all news to me,” he said. Then, looking at his son, “I had not even known that your students went with you to undertake such a dangerous mission.”

Lorenz did not look up to meet his father’s hidden accusation.

“They volunteered,” Byleth said. “Not for glory, but to support me.” Her eyes drifted over to Claude. “I am truly lucky to have had such wonderful students.”

_“Wonderful,”_ Claude thought bitterly, thinking of how the rest of that year had been leading up to their moment of unification. The idea put a pit in his stomach.

Holst politely cleared his throat. “Captain Jeralt was also one of the Knights of Seiros, correct? Both before your birth and during your time as a professor at Garreg Mach?” Byleth’s eyes softened when she looked up at him. “Even when I was at the Academy, many of the other knights still spoke fondly of him and lamented his absence.” He smiled at Byleth. “I would have loved to see him in action.”

Byleth smiled back, subtle as the action was. “He taught me everything I know,” she said. “And even still, was one of few people who could consistently beat me in a match.”

“How often would your father win?” Albert wondered.

Byleth’s eyes tightened when she smiled. “He beat me every time.”

Holst’s eyes glowed. “You must have many great tales from such a strong warrior.”

“Oh, I have plenty,” Byleth said. “But I would not want to bore our other guests with them.”

Count Gloucester sniffed at that. “Are we not hear to determine if you are capable enough to lead our armies into battle?” he asked. “Perhaps a tale or two would allow us to be. . . Convinced.”

Byleth shot Claude a look, then smiled slightly. “Would you prefer the story of the moonlit wolf, or of the man who led a group of forty thieves?” After the forty thieves story was chosen by the three men eagerly eyeing her, she proceeded to tell the story in her typical style that Claude found entrancing. Holst and Albert would ask the occasional question, Albert mostly wondering about her involvement in stopping their foes or what they did with the treasure they found afterward. Holst, on the other hand, was curious about Jeralt and his life as a mercenary. Both tended to deviate the story often. For the most part, Claude tuned them out, wanting to get at least some of his dinner in before it got cold. He had heard the story long ago, anyway. 

“She’s incredible,” Hilda whispered near the end of Byleth’s story. She nudged Claude and jerked her head towards Count Gloucester, who appeared wholly entranced. Even Holst watched her with wide eyes. “Who knew our beloved professor was such a good storyteller?” 

“I did,” Claude said. Lorenz must have been listening in, as he raised an eyebrow. “You both seem to forget that I spent quite a bit of my time with Teach in the beginning of our time at the academy. What do you think we did all the time?”

“I just figured you were trying to get out of homework by use of flattery,” Lorenz whispered. 

“So you’re calling me a teacher’s pet?” Claude asked languidly. 

“Honey, you were nowhere near well-behaved enough to be called a teachers pet,” Hilda replied. Lorenz laughed, but it quickly turned into a cough with him clutching his throat. “Lorenz?” Hilda asked worriedly. Had Claude been sitting on the other side of Lorenz, he would not have seen the quick gesture signaled at her to be cautious. “Shall I have Duke Riegan call for a physician?” She had adjusted her tone, moving from worry over a lover to the polite concern befitting a lady of Hilda’s class.

“It’s unnecessary,” Lorenz rasped, clearing his throat right after. “But I thank you for your concern, Lady Goneril.” He gave her a slight smile, his eyes filled with a level of assurance and adoration that he was often so careful to conceal. Claude wondered if his father was completely blind to the affair. His eyes subconsciously wandered to Byleth. She was watching Lorenz, her eyebrows knit together in concern. 

“You said earlier that you were not in pain?” she said, and Lorenz blinked, as if suddenly remembering there were more people in the room than he and Hilda. 

“Not much,” he said, his voice breaking at the strain. “I don’t want you to be concerned about it.”

Byleth frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said, and Claude knew she meant for more than just the pain. She meant she was sorry for the incident that caused him to get stabbed in the first place. Claude was too.

Lorenz smiled sadly at Byleth. “No need to apologize,” he said. “We all know the risks of war.”

“Though, certainly I hope you won’t throw yourself needlessly into the front lines again,” Count Gloucester pitched in. His eyes narrowed. “I am glad the subject came up actually. Lady Byleth, may I be permitted to give you some advice on how to position your troops in the war? After all, it is my duty as a noble to keep myself educated on such things, and I have quite a sufficient amount of knowledge surrounding—”

Yes, because a seasoned warrior needs advice from a man who has read a handful of books, Claude thought in annoyance. He looked at Byleth again, who raised her eyebrow, and in return Claude shrugged. Their movements were small and quick enough that nobody appeared to notice. Still, to be polite, Byleth turned back to the count with a smile. “Sure. I’m curious to know what you have to say.”

The rest of the evening was fairly pleasant, if not a little dull. Claude would have preferred for Albert to not be there, for all his flowery praise over Byleth. Still, there was some degree of victory to be had, as Count Gloucester appeared to be in favor of supporting Byleth at the upcoming meeting the further into the night they went. After dinner, they moved to a nearby sitting room, sipping wine and talking by the fire. “I had feared my son was only interested in you for your beauty,” the count said languidly. His thin lips curled up in a smile. “But I am happy stand corrected.” 

“You’re not the only one,” Albert said.

Hilda rolled her eyes at Claude, who tried not to laugh. 

“The hour is late,” Claude said politely, mentally noting that he could no longer suggest that anyone leave without being rude. “Perhaps we should all retire for the night.”

“I suppose that would be the reasonable thing to do,” Count Gloucester said begrudgingly. He then added, “Thank you again for taking us in at such short notice.”

“Yes, thank you, Claude,” Lorenz said. “You have been very generous.”

“It is my pleasure,” Claude said to his friend. He rose and escorted them to the guest rooms. Byleth walked close behind him, with the older count at her side. 

“Lady Eisner,” Count Gloucester whispered. Claude’s ears perked up. “May I be so bold as to offer you some advice?”

“Of course,” Byleth replied. “Though I wish you would stop calling me ‘Lady.’ It is a false title, after all.”

“That is actually what I wish to speak to you about,” the count said. His voice seemed to drop lower, if that were possible. “Do you have any intention of obtaining a title?”

It took a moment before Claude heard Byleth reply. “Is there any benefit that a title will give me and my sword wouldn’t?” she asked. Count Gloucester chuckled softly.

“None that would be apparent to a woman as. . . strong as yourself,” he said. There was another pause. “You are not married, and I assume you are not promised to anyone?”

“No, I am promised to no one,” Byleth confirmed. Claude was a little upset at how quickly that answer came.

“Then please take what I am going to say into consideration. . .” Count Gloucester cleared his throat. “Many of the nobles here are still. . . old-fashioned, shall we say. While the devoted will follow you on your position with the church alone, others will want more. . . assurance, of your loyalty to the Leicester Alliance.” Claude flexed his fingers. “A full-blooded Alliance noble as a husband may convince them of your loyalty. I recommend seeking one out with your remaining time in Derdriu.”

Byleth said nothing after that, and neither did Lorenz’s father. Claude wondered if Byleth caught the same words that he did, the two words that made his blood boil ever so slightly. “Full-blooded,” applied to every Alliance noble but one.

“Thank you for your advice,” Byleth whispered. “I will take it into consideration.”

Claude led his guests the rest of the way to their rooms in silence. “You will stay in the morning for breakfast?” he said to Holst at his door. “After you spar with our dear old professor here?”

“Yes. I’m sure our match will help me build up quite the appetite,” Holst said with a slight smile.

Claude shook Lorenz’s hand, bowed to Count Gloucester—and Albert, more begrudgingly—and hugged Hilda at each of their respective doors. Then all who remained was Byleth. They were careful to walk beside each other without touching, and it reminded Claude all too much of when they were fighting five years ago. He hated it. But gods, they could not afford to slip up. Not now.

“I hope you sleep well,” Claude said, his tone more formal than he enjoyed.

Byleth smirked at him. “We shall see,” she whispered. “The bed if far too large and soft for me, but I manage to find sleep eventually.”

Their eyes met, and Claude’s chest swelled. He bent down, taking her hand in his and kissing it softly. “Goodnight, Teach.”

Byleth squeezed his hand. “Goodnight, Claude.”

Claude couldn’t sleep. Something about the idea of Albert sleeping in his home—his room only a few doors from Byleth’s—made him restless. His limbs twitched anxiously, and he tossed and turned as minutes turned into hours without sleep.

He couldn’t take it.

Grabbing his robe, Claude stalked out of his room, letting his feet guide him out towards his gardens. He hoped the brisk night air would clear his mind. At the very least, perhaps the movement would do something to make him more weary.

The grass behind him rustled it’s the movement of quiet footsteps, clenching Claude’s stomach. But he kept walking, acting as if he had noticed nothing while slowly reaching for the knife he kept hidden. With his fingers on the handle, he slowed his pace, ever so slightly.

Waiting for the footsteps to get closer.

“Hah!” he hissed, turning around and grabbing his assailant by the throat. He threw the person against a nearby pillar, thrusting his blade to their throat with a snarl.

“And you say you don’t hold back when we spar,” Byleth laughed. “But I’m certain you’ve never thrown me like that before.”

“Gods, Byleth,” Claude breathed, putting the knife away once more. He cupped the side of her face. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“Only my pride,” Byleth said. “But my neck is fine.” She reached up for his hand. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” Claude whispered.

Their eyes met, with Byleth’s illuminated by the moonlight, and Claude was overwhelmed. He kissed her, pressing her harder against the pillar with what was perhaps too much force. But Byleth gripped his head when he tried to pull away. “Don’t,” she pleaded.

“Byleth. . .” Claude murmured. He kissed her once, twice. . . Maybe five times more before he stopped. Though those lips of hers certainly deserved more of his attention. He intended to tell her that they both needed to go to bed, but he lacked the will. She was too lovely, and he had resisted her too long. A laugh escaped Byleth’s throat as he kissed her once more, a shiver trailing up her spine with his touch. “I love your laugh.”

“Oh, do you?”

Claude nodded. “It’s the most beautiful sound.”

Byleth laughed again, gripping Claude’s hair in her hands to bring his face to hers once more. So Claude remained, blanketed in moonlight with his arms around his lover, pressing his lips on every inch of bare skin.

“Hello?” a voice called softly.

Claude froze. He opened his eyes and looked at Byleth with wide eyes as footsteps approached them.

“Is someone else out here?”

She squeezed his shoulders, then pushed him to the far side of the pillar as she moved toward the footsteps.

“Byleth.”

“Count Lukas,” Byleth said pleasantly. Claude’s fists clenched reflexively. “And here I thought I was alone in my wanderings.”

“Please, call me Albert,” Albert insisted, his voice laying on thick charm. Claude leaned in further at the beat of silence. “The young Duke Riegan is not as apt for entertainment as his grandfather and uncle were. It has been quite some time since I have wandered these grounds, and I was curious to see what changes have been made.” Claude heard the man laugh. “But he seems to have too careful of an eye on his guests throughout the day. . . Makes you wonder what sort of secrets he’s keeping.”

“Claude is just private, but I don’t think you need to worry about him hiding any harmful secrets,” Byleth said.

Claude smirked.

Albert, for all his charm, sounded tense when he laughed. “You know, I find it so. . . Bold of you to speak of the sovereign duke so casually all of the time. Were I not a man familiar with your bluntness, I would assume it was a sign of disrespect.”

“Claude is a dear friend,” Byleth said. Her tone also sounded more tight that it did before. “A title would not change that, but I have nothing but respect for him.”

There was another hesitation, then Albert huffed. Claude heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. When Albert spoke again, Claude could hear his voice more clearly. “You never did understand the power of a title, did you?” Albert asked.

The confidence.

The condescension.

It put a pit in Claude’s stomach.

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean,” Byleth said.

“Was my kiss for you truly so unmemorable?” Albert asked.

Claude’s lip curled in a snarl.

“No, I remember,” Byleth said carefully. “I just don’t understand what that has to do with nobility.”

“Then allow me to elaborate,” Albert continued. The grass beneath his feet rustled as he began to pace. “For starters, I still think that you owe me an apology. It is not every day that a noble such as myself would gift a commoner girl with something so sweet as a kiss from his own lips—“ _Go fuck yourself,_ Claude thought bitterly, “but not only did you seem to not appreciate my gift, but if I remember correctly, you also responded in kind with a fist to my stomach.” He clicked his tongue. “You must know how much that bruised my ego.”

“I am sorry for any harm that I caused,” Byleth replied. “I was. . . startled. And I’ve been trained to defend myself when caught by surprise.”

“Surely, a good trait to have as a mercenary, but. . . You do not intend to be a mercenary forever, do you?”

“Why not?” Byleth asked. “It’s good work.”

“It’s dangerous work.”

“It keeps me strong. Keeps my mind sharp.”

“But would you not rather be comfortable?”

Byleth sucked in a sharp breath, though Claude knew not the reason. He almost stepped out from around the pillar—almost—to find out what had startled her.

“Byleth, I—I must confess, that I asked Count Gloucester to bring me here with him, because I wished for a moment alone with you. And it seems that the goddess that lives within you has granted me that moment.”

“The goddess that lives within me is hardly one to take me by surprise.”

“Not even for a pleasant one?”

“I see nothing pleasant in your arrogance,” Byleth snarled. “Now, please. Let go of my hand. I do not like to be touched.”

“Marry me,” Albert pleaded.

“I was under the impression you were courting Marianne.”

“Miss von Edmund is a lovely woman, surely, and she would make the most obedient wife and mother—“ Claude added that statement to his list of reasons to hate the man. “But the quiet fire that I have seen within you has blossomed into something truly passionate that I cannot resist, and it is something I would pay a great price to possess. I can have you bathed in rose oils and dressed in Almyran silks every day for the rest of your life. I can have you treated like the goddess you are and remove you from the horrors of war if you would just—“ His voice deepened into a snarl. “Surely it is not in the goddess’s will for her vessel to die in the mud like a dog.”

Claude heard Byleth yelp, followed quickly by a sharp collision and a grunt. He sucked in air through clenched teeth, allowing himself to peer around the pillar. If Albert fucking dared to—

Albert was on his knees, clutching the side of his face as Byleth leered over him with a tightened fist. “My fate is tied to this war, and I would have it no other way,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “My will is the will of the goddess, and if you are foolish enough to think I am merely a vessel for her to dwell in, a puppet to control, then you would not make a worthy husband no matter your title.”

“How _dare_ you speak to me that way, you lowly bitch—“

Claude heard the sound of Byleth striking him again.

“_You_ would dare speak to your goddess that way!” she shouted. Albert gave no reply. At least not one that Claude could hear. “Go back to bed, Count Lukas,” Byleth seethed. “And leave me to my wanderings.”

Albert snarled, but Claude heard no sign of a struggle. He pressed himself firmly against the stone column, fruitlessly ignoring the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Begging him to reveal himself.

Pleading for him to do some permanent damage to that arrogant bastard’s face.

Claude listened intently to the sound of Albert stumbling upwards. Ready to step forward if needed.

“Then I will bid you a good night, Lady Eisner,” he uttered. “And if you will permit me, I may bow out of our dueling match tomorrow.”

“For your sake, I think that would be wise,” Byleth said.

Claud kept listening, ears straining to detect the receding footsteps as they moved further and further away from him. When at last he was confident that Albert was out of sight, he rounded the pillar.

Byleth was still standing where he last saw her, eyes downcast and fists in tightened, trembling balls. When Claude put his hand on her shoulder, she tensed further. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

“Referring to myself as his goddess was probably overkill,” Byleth muttered. She inclined her head towards Claude, but did not fully face him. “You should go to bed, Claude.”

He recoiled. “Did he hurt you? I—“

Byleth shot a glare at him, her eyes rimmed with tears. “What happens if he comes back and sees you here?” she hissed.

“Let him,” Claude growled. “I won’t leave you here.”

Byleth looked ready to argue, but something in her expression shifted. Claude pulled her back against the pillar, away from prying eyes so he could hold her as she trembled.

“I’m so angry,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“He called me a _bitch_.”

“I know.”

Byleth looked up at Claude, worry knitting her brows. “Do you think he’ll try to turn Count Gloucester against me now? I got the impression that his support was dependent on—“

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” Claude told her. “Right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Byleth nodded slowly, tucking her head under his chin and allowing his arms to envelope her once more.

“Will we be okay without Gloucester’s support?”

Claude took a deep, long sigh. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I won’t post a chapter on the 17th because of my sister’s wedding. It should be up on either the 18th or 19th instead! :)  
See you next week kiddies!


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude lightly discusses his feelings about Albert with Lorenz and Hilda, and the morning of the roundtable meeting finally arrives.

Byleth had a scar on her left hip. It was only ever visible when she wore a cropped shirt, or when she lifted her arms to stretch before a fight, pulling the fabric upward enough to reveal the top half of the diagonal pink mark. Yet the bottom half, trailing down some unknown length beneath the line of her pants, Claude had never seen. And the way the scar curved, he was never quite certain whether it continued in a straight line, or managed to curve around her thigh. Regardless, the question plagued him. He longed to know where that mark led.

“Close your mouth,” Hilda whispered, causing Claude to jump. “Before we drown in your saliva.”

Claude cleared his throat, shifting in place with his arms across his chest. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Too early in the morning for you to control that wandering eye of yours?”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I didn’t either,” Hilda sighed. Her eyes tilted longingly toward Lorenz, who was hiking up the low hill to join them. “I would like to say it was because I was enjoying myself, but in truth, it’s because Holst snores.”

“You were in separate rooms,” Claude said with a laugh.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Never stopped him before.” She turned her eyes back to the clearing in front of them, where Holst and Byleth were preparing for their duel. “What happened to Byleth’s hand? I don’t remember it being bandaged yesterday.”

Claude suppressed a frown. Byleth’s hand wasn’t seriously injured, but she had sustained a cut from punching Albert the night before. “Knowing her, she probably over-trained this morning,” he lied.

“Why would she train right before a duel?”

Claude shrugged. “I’m not Teach.”

Hilda groaned, but didn’t press the matter further. “Can we get this moving, Holst? It’s fucking freezing out here!”

Holst stopped stretching, then turned to flip her off.

“Asshole!” she called.

Instead of answering her, Holst shifted to address Claude. “Duke Riegan, are you sure you’re all right with this? I should hate to ruin your beautiful estate over a little sparring match.”

“Better an emptied sheep field than my courtyard,” Claude called back to him. “Just keep all of that swinging as far away from your spectators as possible.”

Holst laughed in reply, then resumed his stretching.

Lorenz, at last, caught up with them just before the match was about to start. “Move, von Riegan,” he croaked, pushing past him to clasp Hilda’s face in his hands and kiss her passionately.

“I take it your father left?” Claude asked.

Neither Hilda nor Lorenz replied.

“Are you here to watch us spar or to make love to each other?” Holst yelled.

“Shut up!” Hilda shouted back. Still, she straightened herself pressing a kiss to Lorenz’s cheek and looping her arms through his before repositioning herself between her best friend and her lover. “Get on with it already!”

Holst smiled wickedly, eagerly, then fully turned to face Byleth. Both parties picked up their respective relics, each glowing an eerie red color at the touch of its master. A level of excitement filled Claude that he had not expected, as he realized that he had never actually seen the famed general fight with Freikugel before. Sure, he had seen the Sword of the Creator in action, but each relic had a different feel to it, and the large axe hefted in Holst’s left hand. . . Well, to say it was intimidating would be an understatement. The thing looked like it could tear a man to shreds in one swing.

“The rule is to try to disarm the other. No hits on the body with these,” Byleth said. With a smirk, she added. “I would hate for you to lose an arm.”

Holst nodded to his opponent. “Ladies first,” he called.

Byleth raised her eyebrows, a smile on her lips. The Sword of the Creator hummed, its glow pulsing with the sound.

“Man, I’ll never get over how creepy that thing looks,” Hilda whispered. “Like a giant dismembered spine.”

“Hush,” Claude laughed.

Byleth clasped the sword in both hands, flexed her fingers around the hilt, then ran forward. Holst barely lifted Freikugel in time to block her first attack. Yet the moment their weapons clashed, his countenance changed, determination replacing his earlier eagerness as he tried to land his own blow.

Their movements were almost too fast to follow, the combined years of experience between the two of them on actual battlefields weighing the other out. Claude realized that Holst was possibly the only person he had seen who could have Byleth evenly matched—the only other exception he could think of being Felix. And that was still up for debate.

“Yes, by the way,” Lorenz said. Claude pulled his eyes away from the match to glance at the man whose eyes were narrowed at him. “My father left early this morning with Count Lukas. Apparently he went for a walk last night, and he ran into some petty thief who had been trying to steal from you. He managed to fight the man off, but he got struck in the face a couple of times during the confrontation. It looked pretty ugly.”

“Is that so,” Claude asked flatly, his teeth clenched. “Then I suppose I’ll have to find a way to thank him next time we run into each other.”

Lorenz’s eyebrows lowered at Claude’s tone. “Is there something I’m missing?”

Hilda eyed Claude suspiciously.

“I’m not the one to ask,” Claude said.

A large clamor and a flash of light cut off the conversation. Claude’s eyes sought Byleth, fearing the worst for the briefest of moments, only tempered when he saw her still standing.

“Dammit,” Holst laughed, Freikugel throbbing in his hands. “I was certain that would work on you.”

“I’m not the usual grunt you would find along the border,” Byleth teased, swinging the Sword of the Creator effortlessly in the air between them. Freikugel seemed to only grow more red as Holst watched her movements, raising higher in his hands. Claude would have thought him entirely entranced had he not managed to dodge Byleth’s attack when she at last came after him again.

“Claude,” Hilda said carefully. “Did something happen with Albert?”

Claude crossed his arms, keeping his eyes on the match. From the corner of his eye, he could see pink hair swivel as Hilda looked back and forth between the fight and Claude. When she spoke again, her voice was tense.

“Did something happen between Albert and Byleth?”

“What?” Lorenz hissed.

Claude still kept his eyes forward.

“The bandage. . .”

“Yeah,” he replied flatly.

“Did he assault her?” Lorenz asked.

“I’m not sure on all the details,” Claude said. Which, technically, was true. There was only so much Claude could gather just from hearing the encounter.

Lorenz cursed under his breath, which got Claude to finally look over. Lorenz was hardly one for cursing out of impulse. “I wondered why he had been so adamant to join my father and I for dinner yesterday,” he snarled. “He is family, but it would be exaggerating to say that we are very close. If he only came with the intent to—” Lorenz shook his head, face pensive. He and Hilda exchanged a look before he put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “I have to go,” he rasped. “I don’t want to risk Count Lukas telling his side of things to my father and tainting his image of Byleth before tomorrow.”

“Lorenz, you don’t have to—“

“Of course I do,” Lorenz insisted. His eyes bore into Claude’s. “She’s my professor, too, you know. And I will not let her be shamed because a noble—particularly one who shares my blood—treated her in such a dishonorable manner.” He kissed Hilda one more time. “I will see you all tomorrow.”

With that, he hiked down the hill, with Hilda and Claude watching.

“Is it weird that I’m a little turned on right now?” Hilda asked.

Claude chuckled. “Well, it’s not surprising.”

“Hmm,” Hilda sighed. She pat Claude’s cheek, eyes sympathetic, then looked onward to the duel. “If we stop paying attention altogether, we’ll get chastised for ignoring them,” she said half-teasingly. “But we’ll talk later?”

Claude nodded. “Yeah, we’ll talk later.”

Claude’s hand was shaking, but keeping his focus on Byleth and Holst’s duel managed to distract him. It had definitely been a good idea to move them out of the courtyard Claude usually used for sparring. The grassy field was marred with streaks of mud from blades that missed their marks. It was a testament to how well Holst and Byleth could pull their own punches, that the ground beneath their feet held gashes several feet wide, yet the two of them did not even have a scratch on their skin. Yet, a small part of Claude had to remember that Byleth would never allow an injury on other end, anyway. Nothing short of her own death would stop her from preventing an injury.

They fought long enough for Claude’s legs to go numb. Yet their pace never slowed, save for a few seconds here and there where one of them would take a few steps back to analyze the other, but it always ended in the speedy clash of weapons once more. Red, flashing, bone-white weapons. It seemed as if they could have gone on longer, but in one quick movement, Byleth managed to disarm Holst. She was so fast, Claude did not understand quite what she had done, the only visible movement being the rotation of her wrists and a slight shift in her weight. Freikugel flew off to the side—fortunately further from Claude and Hilda, rather than closer to them—as the man fell flat on his back. Byleth lightly tapped his chest with the point of her blade. “I think that means I win,” she panted.

Holst laughed, dropping his head in the mud. “Yeah,” he said. “I willingly yield.”

Byleth sheathed her weapon, extending her hand to help him up as Claude and Hilda clapped and cheered.

“That’s my girl!” Hilda shouted. “Holst will never live this day down if I have anything to say about it.”

Holst glared down at his younger sister as Byleth laughed. “Hilda, please. It was a difficult match. I haven’t had an opponent last that long against me in years.” Her eyes met Claude’s. “Though it has recently come to my attention that a certain regular sparring partner of mine has been holding back his full strength from me.”

“Teach, I swear to you that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Claude laughed.

Hilda raised an eyebrow. “He definitely holds back,” she said to Byleth smoothly. “I don’t know when the last time was that you saw him go hand to hand with Raphael, but I’ve seen him throw Raph halfway across Garreg Mach’s training grounds.”

Claude rolled his eyes at her. “That is an outright lie.”

Hilda gasped. “I am not a liar,” she said in mock offense. “And I think you should be punished for accusing me of such a thing.” She batted her eyelashes at Byleth. “Professor, can Claude be punished for his wrong doings?”

“Well, he certainly can’t get away with calling my favorite student a liar.”

“Oh, so now Hilda is your favorite student?”

“Jealous, Claude?”

“Guys,” Holst groaned. The other three turned to look at him. “I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m hungry. May we continue this banter after breakfast?”

“Of course,” Claude said, grinning widely. Happy for the escape. He gestured back towards his home. “It should already be waiting for us. I’ll lead the way.” He started walking, listening as the others followed. Behind him, Holst started asking Byleth about specific techniques she has used as they sparred. As Byleth answered, Hilda caught up to Claude, matching her pace to his.

“We never managed to get in our shit-talking for our dear friend Count Lukas,” she whispered.

“Later,” Claude told her.

Hilda frowned. “What _did_ happen with Byleth and him?”

“It’s not really my place to answer,” Claude whispered.

“But you know?”

“Of course I know.”

“Because she told you?”

“More or less.”

“And you were angry?”

“Obviously.”

“So why not have him kicked out of your house?” Claude looked down at Hilda, and she shrugged. “It’s not an uncommon occurrence, you know. Even nobles know that nobility are creeps.”

Claude clenched his jaw. “It’s complicated,” he whispered.

“Complicated how?”

Claude sighed, long and low, but he tried to smile when he looked down at his friend. “Later,” he promised her. “I’l give you the details later.”

Claude did not manage to to speak to Hilda. After their breakfast—and a promise from Holst that Byleth would have his full support the next morning—the two guests left in haste, after remembering that Holst had a prior commitment in the city. Claude and Byleth walked with them to the stables, and waited to leave until their friends backs were long turned. “Are you okay with Hilda knowing about us?” Claude whispered, watching the horses receding along the street.

Byleth looked up at him. “I’m surprised she doesn’t know already.”

“When would I have had the time to tell her?”

“Please. The two of you are always hunched over whispering to each other.”

“Well, the topic of choice this week happens to be Albert von Lukas.”

Byleth pressed her mouth in a hard line. “Does she know about last night?”

“Her and Lorenz know something happened between the two of you, and that it was bad. I told them it was none of my business to give details.”

Byleth nodded.

“Lorenz said he is going to set the record straight with his father, in case Albert tries to lie to him.”

Her mouth twitched upward. “That’s kind of him.”

“Lorenz has his good moments.”

“And he’s definitely grown up in the last five years.” Byleth looked up at Claude, eyes tight despite her smile. “And you think his father will listen?”

Claude shrugged. “I think we have to trust that if Lorenz says talking to his father will be enough, that it will be enough.”

Byleth sighed as she nodded. “Can we take a break today?” she asked.

“You can,” Claude said. “I’m going to go over the strategy that we laid out one last time before tomorrow. I want to make sure I know it inside and out.”

“Then I might as well join you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You’re not the only one talking tomorrow. I need to know your war strategy as well as you do.” Byleth’s eyes crinkled. “So, lead the way. We’re burning daylight.”

A soft knock made Claude pause in the middle of putting on his pale embroidered jacket. “Come in,” he called, pulling his arms through the sleeves.

“It’s me,” Byleth said. She stepped into the closet wearing a navy blue dress, sewn so the skirts wrapped across her waist and created an opening for her legs as she walked. Draped over her arm was a jacket of the same color with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and across her neck was a simple gold pendant inlaid with an emerald. Claude had the vaguest notion that he had seen that pendant before, but he could not place where. Byleth was not the type to wear much jewelry.

Save for the gold bangle, now safely back on her wrist after Greta had it cleaned and polished. That, she wore almost daily.

“Will you help me with my hair?” she asked. “I don’t want to just wear it down. Especially with this dress. I need something. . . A little more.”

“Why not ask one of the girls who work here to help you?” Claude wondered. “Not that I’m saying no, I’m just curious.”

Byleth’s cheeks flushed. “It’s been a while since you’ve braided my hair.” Her eyelashes fluttered. It was really unfair how pretty the motion was, especially with how her makeup was done to emphasize the unnatural color of her irises. “I kind of miss it.”

Claude chuckled. “Yes, I can braid your hair. I’ll be out is a second if you want to sit.”

Byleth nodded. From the reflection in his full-length mirror, Claude watched her walk back over to his vanity and sit in front of it, stroking her fingers through her long green hair. The dress was bare-backed, Claude realized. Something about that reminded Claude where he had seen her pendant before. Byleth had worn it to the ball, five years earlier at the academy. She had worn a backless dress then, too. Claude wondered if that was a preference of hers.

Regardless, he _really_ wanted to tear that dress off of her.

The thought sent a thrill down his spine, and he had to look away from her reflection. _Focus_. They had a meeting to go to. And winning the war was dependent on this meeting. There would be plenty of time to give his attention to Byleth later.

“Can I use your brush to get rid of my last tangles?”

“Yeah,” Claude said, clearing his throat. “It should be in the drawer right in front of you.” _Focus!_ He ran a hand through his hair, checking one last time that everything was in place. When he was satisfied with his appearance—and significantly more calm—he walked back out to Byleth. “Did you find it?” Claude asked. He stepped out of his closet and found Byleth standing in front of his mirror, holding something delicately in her hands. Curious, Claude walked over to see what it was that could make her so unresponsive.

When he looked over her shoulder, he saw a lock of dark hair, frayed at the ends but otherwise preserved in the braid it had been woven in before being cut off, clasped on one side by a golden charm. “I should have gotten rid of that,” Claude murmured, making Byleth look up at him. “But something in me never had the strength to. . . It was easier to keep it out of sight.”

“I don’t think keeping it was a weakness,” Byleth whispered in reply. She curled her fingers around the little lock of hair. “It’s a part of you, after all.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a part of me that I’ve lost.” He gently pulled Byleth’s fingers apart and picked up the braided lock of hair, dropping it unceremoniously in the drawer and closing it again. “I should have specified, the brush is in the left drawer, not the right one.” He pulled out the brush, but when he looked back at Byleth, her hands were still up, as if the braid had not left her hands. “Teach,” Claude whispered.

“You never told me why you cut it,” she said. When Claude opened his mouth, she quickly added. “And don’t give me that ‘married to your work’ bullshit. It can’t just be that.”

Claude chuckled half-heartedly as he started brushing out the mint-colored strands of her hair. “You think you know me so well, Miss Eisner?”

“I _do_ know you so well,” she corrected. Her hand reached up to his, then quickly fell back in her lap. Right. Had to be careful. “Tell me?” she asked.

Claude hummed. He took a section of hair from the side of her head and rapidly braided it. “I felt like I needed to be fully a man of Fódlan in order to help Fódlan,” he said simply. He set the first braid down and made an identical one on the other side of her head. “The day I cut my braid. . . That was the last day I saw my parents, the last day I considered myself to be of two people. . . I cut off all my ties to Almyra that day, and I’ve tried to not look back since.” He repeated the process on both sides slightly lower on her head, making four braids in total. Then Claude took the two higher braids and pulled them back along Byleth’s head. Where they met, he braided them together. Then, he grabbed the lower two strands and repeated the action, only this time including the joined braid from the top so all of the strands ended up braided together into one larger braid. Byleth sat in silence the entire time. When Claude was done, she handed him a silk chord in order to fasten it at the base.

“That’s really sad, you know,” Byleth told him. “You shouldn’t have to cut off one half of yourself for the sake of the other half. That just means you are no longer a full person.”

“I guess that would mean I’ve only been half a person for five years, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think that’s very funny.”

Claude shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Byleth huffed, tilting her head back and forth to look at her reflection in the mirror. “This is beautiful, by the way. Simple, but beautiful.”

Claude smiled sadly. “It’s how spiritual leaders do their hair. They supposedly speak to the gods on our behalf, so it felt fitting to give you the same style.” Byleth looked up at him with wide eyes. “I haven’t completely severed myself, you know.”

“That’s a relief,” Byleth breathed. “And here I was thinking I would have to give you a lecture.”

“Save that for the classroom, Teach.”

“Oh, I intend to.” She stood up, turning to face Claude in one smooth movement. Her face was _so close_ to his. . .

“I know I can’t kiss you,” Claude whispered, cupping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “But I’m counting the moments until I can.”

Byleth looked pointedly towards the open door, then looked back at him. “You’re not the only one,” she said. For the briefest of moments, her hand cupped his face, and the gold bangle on her wrist clinked softly as it brushed against Claude’s earring. The feeling of her skin was gone was quickly as it came. “We should get going.”

Claude lowered his own hand. “I’ll make sure the carriage is ready.”

They sat beside each other in silence on the ride to the capital building, where the round table meetings were held in Derdriu. Byleth’s hands fidgeted with the fabric wrapped around the sword in her lap. She was nervous, Claude realized. He reached over and squeezed her hand. When she squeezed it back, he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb. “You’ll do great,” Claude assured her. Byleth replied with a shrug.

“I have to, right?”

Claude did not know how to respond.

When the carriage halted, Claude exited first, walking around to the other side to take her hand as she stepped out of it. It was the last contact with her he would be allowed to have for the rest of the afternoon. They walked up the steps, side by side, Byleth clutching the Sword of the Creator under the thick bolt of bound fabric.

“Duke Riegan!” A familiar voice called when they were nearly up the stairs. Claude and Byleth stopped, looking down the way they had just climbed as Margrave Edmund and Marianne strode to catch up to them. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Claude agreed, shaking the margrave’s hand. “It is a shame that we’ll likely miss it because of this meeting.”

Margrave Edmund chuckled. “Well, if the meeting goes half as well as you both hope, I’m sure it will be worth it.” He bowed and kissed Byleth’s hand. “I hope you will allow us a peak at what lies in that bundle, my dear.”

“I would not bring it only to tease,” Byleth said with an easy smile. “But I’m afraid that you will have to wait just like everyone else.”

“Of course,” Margrave Edmund said. His smile widened. “I am not the sort of man to expect special treatment.” He straightened again and turned to Marianne. “Shall we go in, then?”

“Actually,” Byleth said, catching his arm. “If you don’t mind, I would like to speak to your adoptive daughter alone for a moment.” She smiled again. “We won’t be far behind you.”

Margrave Edmund’s smile faltered. “Of course,” he said carefully. He bowed to her, then to Claude, and walked further down the main hall, as Byleth began to pull Marianne aside.

Claude watched them both as Byleth tilted her head down to Marianne’s ear and whispered something to her. The polite smile on Marianne’s face quickly turned into a harsh frown, a glint of anger in her eyes. When Byleth pulled away, Claude heard Marianne whisper a quick “thank you” before walking away, back rigid. “What was that about?” he asked Byleth. He fell in step with he as she walked down the main hall, where Margrave Edmund could still be seen walking in the distance.

“I gave her a reason to end her relationship with Count Lukas.”

“And you think now is the best time for that?”

“I didn’t want him to try the same stunt on her that he did with me, and ask for her hand in haste.”

Claude chuckled. “It’s the least of what he deserves.”

“As if he was worthy of Marianne to begin with,” Byleth whispered.

Claude couldn’t agree more.

They were far from the first to enter the central room of the capital building. Several of the highest nobles—along will a handful of the Alliances’ lesser nobles—were gathered in small groups, whispering amongst themselves as they waited for the meeting to officially begin. Once Byleth stepped fully into the room, many of the voices fell silent. It seemed as though everyone was watching the woman who had merged with the goddess, who was asking for support in a war. While some had arrived in Derdriu days or weeks in advance to meet Byleth ahead of time, there were still quite a few who had never laid eyes on her before. Claude heard more than one of them make note of the color of her hair and eyes as she walked past, and how similar it made her look to old portraits of the goddess. He did his best not to smirk. Perhaps this would not be so difficult, after all.

Hilda approached the pair swiftly, bowing in a formal manner to greet them. “It seems as though we have quite a few more lords here than We do for the usual roundtable meetings,” she murmured to them. Many of the conversations around them resumed, though in quieter tones. “I was afraid I would be the only one here who was out of place.”

“I’m not surprised in the least,” Claude replied. He looked around the room, silently counting families. “If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s the pull of religion on the Alliance nobles.”

Hilda made a noise that communicated that she would roll her eyes were she not trying to be a perfectly proper lady for the sake of her lover’s father, who was standing not too far away from them. “Byleth, let me introduce you to some people. Claude isn’t the only one with connections, you know.” She looped her arm through Byleth’s and guided her away from Claude’s side. He was tempted to follow, but he had a role to play as much as Byleth did over the next couple hours. After all, he was Duke Riegan, head of the leading house of the Leicester Alliance. How would it look if he followed her around the room like a puppy—an old part of him hated that comparison—especially after the number of comments the pair of them had already heard referring to Byleth as a cult leader? No, Claude would stand his own ground. Besides, he had to maintain his reputation as a charming and independent leader.

At least to some degree.

So, he moved in the opposite direction. Shook the hand of everyone he passed, thanked them for coming from so far away on short notice. Asked how their children and brothers and mothers were fairing in these hard times. Smiled and winked and exuded as much confidence as he could manage considering what he was about to ask for. Fortunately, very few faces were sour. Not that most of the nobles were ever anything but pleasant to his face anyway, but there were considerably more smiles and nods and laughs when people realized that Claude—the mysterious grandson of the late sovereign duke, whose face still tended to turn heads—was a close ally of the being they worshipped. Talk about ass-kissing. It was almost a relief when Claude encountered a friend in the sea of acquaintances.

“You seem to be doing fairly well, boy,” Judith chuckled under her breath.

“I’m just happy to see you here. I thought you were going to stay at Myrddin Bridge?”

“I thought you might need the extra support, so I flew out just in case.” Judith inclined her head towards Byleth. “Though it looks like she has everything covered.”

“She never ceases to impress me,” Claude admitted.

“So I see,” Judith said in a suspicious tone. When Claude looked back at her, she had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I was speaking with Nardel earlier this morning about the two of you.”

“Oh, gods.”

“We compared notes.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“If your mother never gave you a proper sex talk, I’ll be happy to fill that role for you.”

“Why are the two of you like the aunt and uncle I never wanted?”

Judith laughed a little too loudly. “Because neither of your parents are around to properly berate you as they should.”

Claude blinked, then gave Judith an accusatory glare. “Why did you see Nardel earlier this morning?” he asked.

Judith cleared her throat, and now Claude was the one who was grinning. Nardel and Judith weren’t the only ones capable of a good roasting. “Don’t you usually stay on my property when you come into town? I wonder why I never saw you.” He pretended to think. “Didn’t Nardel leave late last night? I’m not sure I saw him return this morning, either. . .”

“I think I’m going to grab some wine before this meeting.”

“Don’t think we aren’t talking later, young lady.”

“Yes, Duke Riegan,” Judith replied with a dramatic bow. She sauntered away before Claude could pester her further.

With a roll of his eyes, Claude moved on his way, making sure to greet as many other lords and ladies as he could until it was almost time for the round table meeting to begin. He scanned the room, mentally checking to confirm that each of the families he was expecting had arrived. But as he looked upon each face, a frown crept on his own. He did not see Marianne, even though she had left nearly half an hour prior. And worse yet, Albert was nowhere to be seen, either.

Claude headed for Byleth, pulling her away from the three young men she was speaking with while giving as many apologies as possible. “I’m going to look for Marianne,” he whispered. “We still have about twenty minutes, but if the gong rings, do you feel comfortable enough to start without me?”

Byleth’s eyes were hard as she nodded. “I have Lorenz, Hilda, and Lysithea to back me up,” she replied. “Just find her quickly.”

Claude nodded. He walked out the double doors in a relaxed manner, waiting until they closed again behind him before picking up his pace. He followed the narrow hallway where he last saw Marianne disappear into, where smaller meeting rooms and lounges filled in the rest of the large building. When he heard raised voices in the distance, he ran faster.

“What makes you think I would accept your hand after you had already asked for hers?” Marianne’s voice hissed.

“Because you were _promised to me,_” Albert growled back.

Claude’s stomach lurched.

Marianne laughed humorlessly. “I was never promised to you, beyond giving you my attention to see if we were a good match. And it has been made clear to me that we are not.”

Claude heard Marianne yelp.

“Do _not_ walk away from me!” Albert shouted.

“Count Lukas, let go—“ Marianne’s voice cut off with the sound of a—

Gods, if he actually _hit her_—

Claude rounded the corner, his eyes quickly taking in the sight of Marianne on the ground, hands clutched to the side of her face, with Albert leering over her. Something in Claude snapped. Before he knew it, he was face to face with the man, one fist closed around his collar while the other pounded into Albert’s cheek. Right where Byleth had already left a bruise.

“Fuck!” Albert shouted, stumbling backwards. He continued to curse through gritted teeth as Claude shoved himself backwards, placing himself between Albert and Marianne.

“Count Lukas,” Claude seethed. “You seem to have a knack for preying on my friends this week.”

Albert glared down at him. “Not my fault your _friends_ are all teases.” He lunged for Claude, but a ball of light flung him backwards against the far wall. Marianne stepped up beside Claude, one hand still on her eye while the other was now outstretched towards Albert, glowing with magic.

“Walk away,” she whispered. 

Albert seethed at the two of them, eyes flicking back and forth between their faces. When he stood, he covered his thrice-bruised face and limped away. Claude did not take his eyes off of him until he was well off in the distance. When he felt like they were safe, he turned back to Marianne. “Let me see that. . .”

Marianne jerked away from him. “Either it will bruise, or it won’t. The meeting should be starting any minute now, so there is no time to worry.” She started to walk back toward the main hall when her step faltered. Claude reached over to catch her before she crumbled. “I must be going into shock. . .”

“Sit,” Claude whispered. “Please, Mari. We can be a couple of minutes late.”

Marianne nodded slowly, allowing Claude to guide her downward to rest against the stone wall. She was shaking. Shaking horribly. And if it didn’t mean leaving her behind, Claude likely would have left to ensure that Albert knew _exactly_ what would happen should he ever touch one of his friends again. But that would have to wait. He put is arm around Marianne’s shoulders and held her as she worked to steady herself.

When her breathing was a little more even, she shook her head, laughing to herself. “Why is it that you always come to my rescue?” she asked.

“Because I love you,” Claude said. “It’s what you do for people you love.” He tried to smile. “And you seem to have a knack for attracting trouble.” Marianne made a quiet laughing sound, which turned into a sob halfway through. “I know a thing or two about that, so I can sympathize.”

“Except I think your trouble is a little more self-inflicted.”

“Is that a jab from Marianne von Edmund?”

“I’m trying to distract myself. It won’t happen again,” Marianne hiccuped. She rested her head on the wall. Her hand clutched the ring hidden under her dress.

“Do you still love him?” Claude asked. He lightly touched her hand. “After all these years?”

Marianne sighed. She tugged at the chain around her neck, lifting the delicate circlet inlaid with jewels so she could inspect it. “I’m not so sure I would call it love anymore,” she whispered. “But I think of him fondly. Pray that he found rest in the next life nightly.” A sad smile crept on her lips. “And I keep this with me to remind myself what it looked like to be wholly loved and accepted for who I am, and that I am worth nothing less than that sort of love.” She tucked the ring back under her neckline. “It’s a difficult thing to remember at times.”

Claude pat her shoulder. When Marianne looked back up at him, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’re worth every bit of love this world could ever offer.”

Marianne laughed, and a tear ran down her good eye. The second one was starting to swell. “If I ever had a brother, I would want him to be like you.”

“Am I not you brother?”

“I don’t remember us sharing parents.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Claude insisted. Marianne’s brow furrowed. “I love you like a sister. I protect you like a sister.” Claude’s chest ached. “I’ll happily adopt you into my family if the margrave allows me to.”

“He might take that as a marriage offer.”

“Then he’ll have to live with disappointment.”

Another laugh gave way to a sob as more tears fell down Marianne’s face. Claude held her tighter, whispering soothing words into her ear all the while. Several minutes later, Marianne straightened, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at her cheeks and eyes and she took long, shaking breaths. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Any time,” Claude said. He stood up, offering his hand down to her with a tight smile. “Are you well enough to come to the meeting? Or should I tell your father you’ve fallen ill?”

“No,” Marianne insisted, taking Claude’s hand and pulling herself upward. She looked up at Claude with a face set in determination. “I’m a soldier. I’m _your_ soldier. And Byleth’s. I won’t miss this meeting over something silly as a bruise.” She pat Claude’s cheek and turned back to the hall. “So let’s not keep her waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. . . Guys. . . This fix has officially hit 20,000 hits. Stop. You’re too kind to me. I can’t handle it. *cries tears of love*
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all had a nice weekend! (Personally I’m dying of exhaustion, but I’m looking forward to my life getting a little more back to normal.) Hope the rest of your week is dandy <3


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth make it through the roundtable meeting, then catch up with their friends afterward.

Claude wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that the nobles could be seen meandering to their seats just as he and Marianne approached the open double doors. It was typical behavior, but he had assumed that there may be at least a little more sense of urgency due to the day’s topic of discussion. No matter. At least there was hope that the activity about the room would distract from Marianne’s face.

Marianne stopped Claude just before entering the room, turning to face one of the guards standing at attention outside. “I have a favor to ask. Please see to it that Count Lukas is taken into custody if he is still on the grounds. He has assaulted my person, as you can see, and my father will want to ensure that he answers for it,” she said. The slightest quiver broke the end of her voice.

The guard stared at her wide-eyed, no doubt in shock, seeing such a bruise on a noblewoman’s face. He blinked, then saluted, before leaving his post to seek out the man who had assaulted her.

“What makes you so sure he’ll still be here?”

“I’m not. But it would be a shame if he interrupted our meeting.”

Claude chuckled. “Remind me never to cross you,” he said.

Marianne hummed. “My father has taught me well.”

Claude escorted her to the seat beside Margrave Edmund’s. The look on his face when he saw his daughter’s eye was one of open shock and horror—uncommon on the usually-charming and chipper man. The pair were already lost to whispers when Claude turned to find his own seat. Some of the other nobles were staring at Marianne, others couldn’t decide whether to look at Marianne or Claude. And others still seemed blissfully ignorant. Which was good. The meeting was bound to be a long one even without a distraction, and Claude doubted that Marianne wanted to be the center of attention.

As Claude crossed the room, he took note of the families in attendance. Of course, at least one member of each of the twelve head houses arrived. Some families brought more than one generation’s worth of members. Claude supposed that made sense. After all, whether or not everything went according to plan, history was about to be made. Who wouldn’t want to witness it?

His eyes met Hilda’s, Lorenz’s and Lysithea’s, as well. Lysithea sat between a small but well-dressed couple, with weary eyes and dark hair. Claude already recognized them as her parents, yet he was still more than a little shocked to see them. They almost never came to meetings. In fact, Claude wasn’t entirely sure he had ever seen the couple attend a roundtable meeting before. Not even the big ones like this. Their attendance was no small matter. Not in Claude’s eyes.

Claude took his usual seat, beside which sat Byleth, eyes looking up at him expectantly. She jerked her head towards Marianne, and Claude shook his head. There would be time to discuss what had transpired later. So Byleth shrugged, eyes indicating that they would talk later. When she faced the rest of the table, she effortlessly set her sword on the surface in front of her. Though it was still covered by the cloth, Claude did not doubt for a second that anyone paying attention wondered what was wrapped inside that bundle. He did a final glance around the room to make sure everyone was finally seated. All seats were filled, save for Margrave Edmund’s. Claude wondered if he left shortly after his exchange with Marianne.

A pity. But they could not afford to wait.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Claude began. All chatter dissipated. “I would like to begin by once again thanking you all for traveling all the way to Derdriu on such short notice. I will be brief, as I am not the central focus of this meeting. For the last five years, I have implored you to keep out of the Empire’s war against the church, despite the fact that I know many of you are strong supporters of Seiros’s religion. When asked why I would suggest such a thing, I have told you time and again of the professor I learned from at the Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy. Not only is she one of the strongest warriors I have ever met, but she is also the only living bearer of the crest of Flames, the very same one that history would have had us believe died with the hero Nemesis over a millennia ago. That alone is impressive, as it allows her to wield the sword gifted to Nemesis by Sothis as her champion, heralding her a champion to guide us as her ancestor once did. And if that were not enough to convince you of the divine favor on her life, I also had the honor of witnessing first-hand the moment that her soul was merged with the soul of the goddess Sothis, whom we worship—“ he was careful not to look at Byleth then, knowing she would give him a look at the word “we.”

“Though she disappeared the day of Emperor Edelgard’s attack on Garreg Mach,” he continued, “I believed her disappearance to be a sign from the goddess that the time was not yet right for us to fight against the Empire, and that instead we were to wait until Byleth Eisner’s return.” Claude turned slightly to gesture to Byleth. “And as you can see, she had returned to Fódlan, at last. We have already succeeded against pushing Edelgard’s troops back out of the Alliance lands that they were occupying. But that will not be enough to stop Emperor Edelgard. Her forces are bigger than ours, and better funded. There is nothing to stop her from occupying the Alliance to a greater degree than she did before unless we decide to take her out first. Which is why we intend to march towards Enbarr.” He paused, letting the words sink in. As Claude expected, many faces looked stunned at the mention of the Adrestian Empire’s capital. “We cannot accomplish our goal without more soldiers and supplies. But that doesn’t mean we do not have a plan. And that is why you have been asked here today. You deserve to know what it is that people from your homeland are doing to ensure the protection of your homes and to bring back the church that had reigned over us in peace for so many generations.” He kept his expression easy-going at those words. “If our plan works, though, I am certain that we can have this war ended in five, six months tops.”

As Claude expected, none of the other meeting attendants must have expected that answer.Not even Judith, or Claude’s old classmates. The only other person at that table who seemed wholly unfazed was Byleth. Byleth, who had helped him develop the plan, who had encouraged speed and accuracy to avoid being crushed by Edelgard’s greater numbers. “Like an arrow,” she had said with a wink when they first discussed the idea. The thought brought a smile to Claude’s lips.

“Pardon me, Duke Riegan,” one of the lesser nobles began. He stood to be better heard. “But this war between the Knights of Seiros and the Adrestian Empire has more or less been at a stalemate for the better part of—“ The double doors opened behind the man. Margrave Edmund stepped into the room, red-faced with hardened eyes.

“My apologies,” he said. He locked eyes with Claude and gave him a stern nod, which Claude returned. He would have to pull him aside to find out what happened later. As the margrave took his seat,Claude turned back to the other noble with an easy smile.

“Please, continue,” Claude urged.

“Erm,” the man said, eyes flicking toward Margrave Edmund. He cleared his throat. “Yes. As I was saying, they have been in a stalemate for most of the last half a decade. What is it about the return of this old professor of yours that makes you so certain you can win on the church’s side in less than half a year?”

Claude’s smile broadened. “I am so glad you asked,” he said. Claude looked to Byleth. “Will you do the honors of helping me explain, Teach?”

Byleth nodded. With her face smooth and devoid of any emotion, she faced the nobles and began to lay out a basic version of their plan. The pair had spoken long and hard about it, when first devising a war strategy to present at the round table, and they decided that there was no way to get around the meeting without trusting everyone in the room on some base level not to report back to Edelgard. However, Byleth was still careful not to deliver any specific movements—what roads would be crossed, forts taken over, and the like—as those details would be far more dangerous in enemy hands. And there was no guarantee that Imperial supporters were absent from the table. An emphasis on the Alliance’s safety was crucial. Still, Byleth was able to deliver a concise yet effective layout of how she and Claude expected to take over Enbarr in six months’ time, all the while answering the questions and concerns of the masses as they came up. Claude happily kept silent, only adding in details when one of the nobles asked a question she could not answer. Most of the questions given to her, however, were answered effortlessly from her own lips. She was a natural born leader that way, Claude thought.

It was hours later when Byleth concluded their plan. The sun pouring in from the windows was beginning to set behind the surrounding buildings, casting long, dark silhouettes into the room. Servants came in silently to light candles about thirty minutes prior, saving eyes from having to strain. “Thank you all again for coming today,” Byleth said. Claude could see the weariness around her eyes and hear the beginnings of a hoarse voice. “I don’t doubt that some of you may still have questions for me, despite the plan that I have just laid out for you. My experience and credibility are difficult to prove, and there is little that I can offer to show that what has been said about me save for this.” She slightly touched the bundle in front of her. “Duke Riegan, will you help me?”

Claude stood up, wordless untying the chords around the fabric to reveal the sword that had been Byleth’s companion since the beginning of her time at Garreg Mach. As he did so, Byleth also rose from her chair, removing the jacket that covered her arms and back. Claude heard whispers ripple throughout the room noting the scars on her exposed skin, and he wondered absently if that had been part of Byleth’s own personal plan. It was easier to believe Byleth was a seasoned mercenary when her scars and muscles were visible. He picked up the Sword of the Creator and offered it to her, in part to be polite and in part to show the others around the table that the sword would not react to just anyone’s touch.

Byleth smiled at him. Her fingers lightly touched the hilt, and her sword hummed in response. The anticipation in the air was electric. When she grasped it fully, she was met with gasps as the sword glowed red, phantom flames licking at the blade. Byleth lifted the blade, bathing her face in the glow. “No crest stone,” she said. “And yet the blade still activates at my touch. The Sword of the Creator has been compatible with me since even before my soul merged with Sothis’s, and it has continued to be faithful to me after.” She eased the sword back into Claude’s hands, and Claude rewrapped it silently as Byleth continued. “I do not pretend to know what it means, nor do I pretend to know why I was chosen by Sothis. I am not a deep well of religious knowledge or a saint who has lived a blameless life.” She took a deep breath. “But I know that it was the goddess’s desire for her to know peace. The sooner we end this war, the sooner we may see peace once more.”

She sat down, and Claude handed her sword back to her. When he opened his mouth to conclude the meeting, Count Gloucester stood up. “Miss Eisner,” he began. “The plan you have just laid out in detail for us is well-thought out and frankly, brilliant. But if I recall correctly, it has been stated that it will not work without more soldiers and supplies.” His eyes wandered briefly to Claude. “Is that correct?”

Byleth nodded curtly. “That is correct,” she confirmed.

“How many blades? How much in supplies?”

Byleth swallowed. “We currently have four thousand strong. We would like to double that number. Should we reach our goal, we would need supplies to feed and arm each of those eight-thousand soldiers.”

“Is eight thousand enough to guarantee a victory?”

“It’s enough to tilt the odds in our favor.” Byleth’s tone was practical and even. No sense of doubt and no lack of confidence was present.

“How many soldiers in total would it take for a guarantee?”

“Ten-thousand.”

Count Gloucester laughed. “Such a small amount? Last I heard, the Adrestian army contained over thirty-thousand soldiers.”

“Our plan relies more on being fast than being large. Yes, the Adrestian Empire has three times the amount of soldiers we would require, but they are spread out across their nation, as well as the western side of Faergus. If we move fast enough that they can’t catch up with us, ten-thousand men will be more than enough to satisfy our goal.” It was amazing, the way she sat erect in her chair, holding Count Gloucester’s gaze while everyone else watched her in awe. Claude had discussed the idea with her that they should not outright ask for the aid of the nobles unless it was offered first. But he did not realize how eloquently Byleth could make it seem like she was merely presenting information, rather than making a request. It was one of his own tricks, yet he did not remember teaching it to her.

Byleth’s answer seemed to satisfy the count. He called over one of the servants standing at attention along the edge of the room and whispered something in their ear. When they left, he turned back to Byleth. “You say your soldiers are currently residing at Myrddin Bridge?”

“Most of them,” Byleth said. “The rest are recruiting volunteers for the war.”

“You _have_ thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“The people of the Alliance have the right to fight for what they believe in. We are just presenting them with the opportunity.”

“How incredibly modern.”

“It’s only practical,” Byleth said.

The servant returned with parchment, a quill and a jar of ink. Lorenz’s father took it from them wordlessly, and scrawled out a handful of words on the pages. “As I’m sure you know, Miss Eisner, my lands lie right along the border between Adrestia and Leicester, connected only by Myrddin Bridge. That bridge has put much pressure on me over recent years.” He shot another look at Claude. “But I will sleep better at night knowing that it will be protected from any invasions in the near future.” He stopped writing, setting the quill down in the ink jar. “This is a list on what I can afford to provide you. I can have soldiers and supplies marched to you within a day of my return home. Will that be satisfactory?”

A hint of a smile crept on Byleth’s lips. “It will, Count Gloucester. Thank you for your generosity.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I have one condition, if you will permit me to give it.”

“Of course,” Byleth said.

“I support you because of the evidence of your victory, but fighting on enemy territory will change things. I would like you to return with a monthly report on your victories and losses—“

“No,” Claude said. All eyes turned to him. “Byleth will be needed at the front lines. You would not ask a commander to abandon his men, so you will not ask the same of her. If you would like a monthly messenger, you will have to accept me in her place.”

Count Gloucester’s eyes narrowed. But Claude did not waver. For all her knew, he was risking twenty thousand men. But he was right, and he knew it. The count knew it, too. Byleth was more than a religious figurehead, and Claude would be damned if any of the nobles in the room reduced her to a pretty toy to be sent to and from the battles ahead.

“I accept,” Count Gloucester said, his tone icy. “And I pray that the news you give me next will hold as much victory as you have provided today.” He straightened his jacket, then looked around the room. “I will leave these here should any of the rest of you like to make an offer of support to Miss Eisner and the sovereign duke. Otherwise, may I take it this roundtable meeting can come to a close?”

Claude looked to Byleth, who nodded. “Unless anyone else has anything to add, I have said all I wanted to say.”

No one spoke up.

“Then I wish you luck in your next battle, Miss Eisner,” Count Gloucester said. A smirk tugged at his lips. “I would say I will pray for your victory, but something tells me you are covered in that area.” He bowed to her gracefully. “Until we meet again.”

He turned from the table, and with that motion, the other nobles began to rise from their seats, as well. Some came to speak final words of praise to Claude and Byleth, others hurried to the papers Lorenz’s father left behind—though whether to see what he was offering to contribute or to give a contribution themselves, Claude did not know—while others ducked their heads and left the room silently. Hilda, Lorenz and Lysithea hurried to Marianne’s side with worried faces.

Claude stood and stretched his arms. Though they had succeeded in gaining at least some support for the war, and from Count Gloucester of all people, his hunger and exhaustion overshadowed any feelings of excitement he may have. “We should get dinner,” Claude whispered to Byleth. He inclined his head. “But I want to speak to Margrave Edmund first.”

“That would be nice,” Byleth murmured. “Do you think the others will want to join us?”

Claude raised his eyebrows at her and smiled. His hand instinctively reached for hers, but he swiftly dropped it. “Let’s go ask.” He led her to their group of friends, who fortunately were still standing by the margrave and Marianne.

“Honestly, I would castrate the man myself if he was still—“

“Hilda. . .” Lorenz muttered warningly.

“Mari, that looks hideous. Will you please at least let me heal the bruise?” Lysithea whispered.

“No,” Marianne insisted. “If we are to have a hearing before I return to Garreg Mach, this will be counted as evidence.”

“_When_ we have a hearing,” her father corrected. His mouth was hard set. “A man like that will not be permitted to—“ He paused when he saw Claude and Byleth approaching. “Duke Riegan,” he said tightly, bending forward into a bow. “Thank you for being there for my daughter. I cannot imagine what more could have happened had you not found her.”

“Believe me, she is more than capable of handling herself. I am more a method of support.” He tried to smile assuringly. “If you would permit me to ask. . .”

“I sought out Count Lukas and saw to his arrest myself,” the margrave answered. Claude saw Byleth look at Marianne, then back to the margrave, no doubt piecing together the beginning of the story with ease. “I am not one to use my influence for personal gain, but it felt like an appropriate exception to move his trial to the end of the week, rather than waiting a whole month. If my daughter is to rejoin you before you march into Adrestia, I will have her see justice before she goes, so she can know home is always a safe place to return to.”

Marianne looked up at him with a widened eye. Her bruised eye started watering. Margrave touched her face tenderly, a look of strain marring his smile. Or was it guilt? Claude couldn’t help noticing the number of stares they were getting, but he ignored them to the best of his ability. No doubt there would be gossip, but it would hardly reach Marianne on the front lines. Marianne touched her father’s hand, holding it for a moment before letting go. When Margrave Edmund lowered it, he turned back to Byleth and Claude. “I should offer you both my congratulations,” he said. He faced Byleth. “Especially you. I’m impressed with how well you held everyone together. This group is more likely to act like a group of hungry wolves than civilized people most of the time.”

“Thank you,” Byleth said graciously. “I was well-prepared by Duke Riegan, otherwise I would not have done half as well.”

The margrave chuckled. “I suppose I should go offer my own contribution before there is no room left on the papers. Then would you like to get some dinner, Marianne?”

“Actually, may we be permitted to have her for the evening?” Claude asked. “We would like for all of our friends to have dinner together tonight.”

The margrave smiled, glancing back at Marianne affectionately. “She’s a grown woman now, isn’t she? She can make her own decisions.” He pat Claude on the shoulder as he moved past him, back towards the round table. “Don’t wait up. I’ll ensure that the papers get sent to your home, Duke Riegan.”

“Were we going to get this invitation, too?” Lysithea asked.

Claude blinked at her, then smirked. “You just did,” he said.

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Let me go tell my parents,” she sighed, turning away from the group.

“We might not all fit in one carriage,” Hilda said. “Lorenz and I can ride in one, and the rest of you in another? Does that work?”

Claude resisted the urge to make a snide remark. “Yeah, everyone else can go in mine,” he said.

“Just tell us where to meet you, then,” Lorenz said.

“Remember where we had dinner two years ago?” Claude asked. ”The place with the balcony, by the water?”

“I remember,” Lorenz said.

“Do you need instructions to get there?”

“No, I—“ Lorenz stammered. “I’ve actually been there a few times since you took me, so I’m familiar with how to get there. I. . . liked the food.”

Claude suppressed a smile as he nodded. “Then we shall meet you there.”

“I’ll have to let my father know I’m leaving. And Lady Goneril, I’m sure you’ll have to do the same for your brother?”

“Most likely,” Hilda sighed.

“Sounds good,” Byleth said. “We will grab Lysithea then head out.” She looked at Marianne. “Ready?”

Marianne nodded. “Ready.”

When they retrieved Lysithea, Marianne said a final goodbye to her father, then the four of them walked out towards Claude’s carriage. “It’s a shame that we aren’t all here,” Marianne noted. Claude helped her up the steps and ducked in after her. Lysithea and Byleth were sitting on the opposite bench together. “I’ve missed everyone these last few weeks, and I can’t wait to see the rest of our old class.”

“You’ll see them soon,” Claude assured her. “With this meeting out of the way, we can all start heading back to Garreg Mach in the next few days.”

“And then it’s back to war,” Lysithea grumbled. She rested her chin on her hand and looked out the window.

“Yes, back to war,” Claude admitted. “But the sooner we win, the sooner we can get back to some semblance of normality.”

“But what about those of us who don’t make it back, Claude?” She scoffed when Claude didn’t answer. “My own parents raised an anti-Imperial flag, you know. And to you, that’s probably something to be proud of. But it just fills me with worry. We don’t have an army. We don’t have money to hire protection. If the Adrestians decide to invade us again—“

“Sithee, please,” Marianne begged. “Let’s not speak of such things now. We are all tired and hungry after that long meeting.” Lysithea lazily turned her head towards the blue-haired woman. “Can we just have peace tonight, please?”

Lysithea looked like she was about to argue. But when she opened her mouth, the simmering anger faltered. Claude winced, hearing the sound of Marianne being struck in his own mind. “Sure, Mari,” Lysithea sighed. “We can postpone the heavy talks for a day.” She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, then looked back at Claude. “Where is the place we are going to, again? What kind of cake do they serve there?”

The small table erupted into laughter. Claude clutched at his stomach as he grinned widely. Luckily, his continued patronage at the small eatery allowed them access to a private room, otherwise he was sure they would be disturbing the other customers. “Hils, stop, stop,” he begged, “I can’t breath.” His eyes met Byleth’s as he tried to compose himself. Those beautiful, green eyes. They, too, were filled with laughter.

“I will not stop!” Hilda laughed. She leaned onto Lorenz’s shoulder and drank deeply from the cup of mead in her hand. Lorenz pressed a kiss to her forehead. Even he, of all people, was laughing. Even if it was little more than a wheeze in his current condition. “It’s not my fault that my brother is a mortal dumb-ass, despite what the rest of Fódlan thinks of him. I will proudly tell the story of him drunkenly parading _naked_ around our gardens while declaring himself ‘the protector of Fódlan!’ until the day I die.” Hilda dramatically rolled her eyes. “He’s such a moron. I swear to the goddess, I will never understand why people worship him.”

“Maybe it’s because he’s hot,” Lysithea offered. She took a slow, calm sip of her wine as everyone around the low table openly gaped at her.

“Sithee, are you drunk?” Hilda demanded, but the amusement on her face was apparent. She picked up one of the pillows they were lounging on and playfully threw it at her white-haired friend.

Lysithea dodged it, but spilled some of her wine in the process. “I’m just the only one at this table who will admit it!” she protested.

“Oh, no you’re not,” Claude laughed. “He’s a good-looking guy. I have no shame in saying it.”

Lorenz made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat while Hilda willfully ignored him. Byleth chuckled quietly.

“I’d ask if you were expecting to be my sister-in-law one day, Sithee, but I know for a fact that my brother is blade-sexual, so I’m afraid you don’t stand a chance.”

Lysithea chuckled. “Oh, that’s fine. He’s not my type, anyway.”

“If I remember correctly, you’re more into men with a. . . darker complexion,” Marianne teased. Lysithea shot her a look.

“Wait, what?!” Hilda demanded. She practically crawled over Lorenz’s lap to get into Lysithea’s face. “Who!”

“I thought there was a _pact_ between mages, Mari!” Lysithea groaned. Marianne shrugged, a slight-but-pleased smile on the good side of her face.

“How was I to know your crush was a secret?”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know!”

“Is _anyone_ going to tell me who the mystery guy is?”

The three girls continued to tease and pester and giggle, with Lorenz caught in the middle of them thanks to the woman now sitting on his legs. Claude chuckled to himself, then stole a glance at Byleth. She, too, was watching the girls, with a look on her face that Claude could only think to interpret as pride. “Something on your mind?” Claude murmured.

Byleth blinked, then looked up at him with a smile. “It’s nice seeing everyone laughing and having fun,” she replied, keeping her voice low to not interrupt the others. “I had this fear once, that as time would pass, I would stop witnessing these moments between my old students.” She took a sip of her wine. Her eyes were half-opened, and when she blinked, her head bobbed. “I’m happy to stand corrected.”

“Are you getting tired?” Claude asked her. Byleth nodded lazily.

“We’ve been out all day. I’m going to be very happy to see my bed tonight.”

“I can send for the carriage.”

“No, we can stay for a little while longer.”

“Care to share what’s going on over there?” Hilda asked. Claude didn’t realize how close he was leaning to Byleth, but he straightened at Hilda’s words.

“I’m just getting tired,” Byleth said. “Claude was offering to take me home, but I think we’ll stay for a while longer. I don’t want to ruin the fun.”

Hilda straightened her back to lean against Lorenz’s torso, her head on his shoulder. “Go get some rest if you’re tired, sweetie. We’ll see you soon enough.” She paused to yawn. “Come to think of it, I’m getting tired, too.” She looked up to Lorenz. “Are you going to drop me off?” she asked.

Lorenz kissed her nose. “Of course, love.”

Lysithea groaned. “Mari, you and I will probably have to call for a carriage then, huh? I just realized our horses are still at the capital.”

“We’ll take you back,” Claude offered.

“No, we can do it,” Hilda said. “You guys are heading in the opposite direction, and it’s on our way since we’re staying in the city.” She gave Claude a skeptical look. “But as payment, I get to steal Byleth for brunch tomorrow.”

“Oh, so I’m not good enough to invite?”

“No! We need some proper girl time.”

“Come on, Claude, you have to share me,” Byleth laughed.

“That is asking way too much of me,” Claude said. He almost leaned down and kissed her. Almost.

“Is eleven okay, Professor?”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll pick you up, let me worry about the details,” Hilda said. She yawned again. “Now, get out of here, you two. Claude, we’ve got the bill.”

“Hils, you can’t possibly—“

“Oh, shut up,” Lysithea said. “You’re funding a war. We can buy a fucking dinner.”

“Young lady,” Claude said warningly. “We have talked about your language.”

Marianne chuckled as Lysithea mumbled into her wine glass. “We’ll see you two in a few days,” she said softly.

Claude and Byleth stood up and bade their goodbyes to their friends, then Claude went downstairs to call for his carriage. Byleth groaned as she stepped into the carriage. “Okay, maybe it’s a good thing we are leaving now. I’m so tired. I’d be willing to bet it’s past midnight right now.”

“You’re right, we’re probably going to be in trouble for being out after curfew,” Claude said in a teasing tone. He looked up at Byleth, who was half asleep on the carriage bench across from him. Her head lulled to the side and her eyes were barely open. Claude decided they could speak later. For now, she needed to rest.

“Sit by me,” Byleth murmured. “Your shoulder makes a nice pillow.”

Claude chuckled under his breath. “Yes, ma’am.” He shifted carefully so he could switch benches without toppling over as the carriage moved down the road. When he was securely seated beside Byleth, she cradled his hand on her lap and nuzzled her cheek against his arm. “The meeting seemed to go well. I’m curious to see what was pledged to us. Hopefully Margrave Edmund has already sent the papers over to my estate.”

Byleth nodded lazily. “I was surprised by how much Count Gloucester took a stand to support me after only meeting me once before.”

“Maybe it’s because he’s still hoping to secure you a nice full-blooded Alliance husband.”

Byleth huffed. “You heard that, did you?”

“I always keeps my ears perked up when that man is around.” Claude shrugged. “He and I have a history of underhanded comments.”

Byleth scoffed. “Well, in his defense, you’ve never been one to stay out of trouble. I doubt you show much restraint in retaliating.”

“I have actually been _very_ diplomatic when it comes to him, Teach,” Claude said with a chuckle. “Have some faith in me.” He savored the feeling of Byleth nuzzling up closer to him.

“I don’t think he meant exclusively Albert, if that means anything.”

_You’re right, he just meant not me._ “That hardly matters either way now, though.”

“I still can’t believe he attacked Marianne. Do you think he’ll go to prison?”

“It’s hard to tell with money in the mix.”

“Hmm,” Byleth sighed. “We’ll just have to hope, then. In the meantime, I’m going to try to sleep.”

The carriage came to a full stop in front of Claude’s door. Byleth barely stirred when Claude jostled her. So, he picked her up and carried her down the low-lit hallway until he reached her room. Once he was there, he laid Byleth down on the bed. A frown crept onto his face. That dress she was wearing hardly looked comfortable. . .

“Are you still awake, Teach?” he asked.

Byleth took in a long breath, then nodded.

“I’m going to get you out of this thing. Sit up for me?” He wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted gently until Byleth was sitting up (which was a generous way of saying she was leaning against Claude to keep upright). With careful fingers, Claude unfastened the ties around her neck and pulled the straps off her shoulders. “Do you have a shirt nearby?”

“Check the dresser,” Byleth yawned. Claude left her where she was sitting, dress still half-laced, and retrieved a cotton tunic before returning. “Let’s get this over your head.”

“And here I thought you were undressing me,” Byleth said, chuckling to herself. Claude smirked in reply, kissing her on the forehead.

“None of that,” he chided. “I just figured you would regret falling asleep in this.”

“Sure,” Byleth muttered.

Claude laughed quietly. “Play nice. I’m trying to behave here.” Once she had the shirt on her, he removed the dress by sliding it down her legs, then walked over to lay it across a nearby chair. By the time he turned back towards Byleth, she was already cocooned in her blankets. Typical. “I’ll try to see you in the morning before Hilda steals you.”

Byleth caught his hand as he walked past. “I don’t want a full-blooded Alliance noble,” she said. Her eyes were intent, far more awake than they had been moments before. “I know I don’t have to tell you that, but. . . It felt worth saying.”

Claude held onto her hand, savoring the small amount of contact. He glanced at the door, not realizing he had sub-consciously closed it behind him. He could kiss her once. Just once. Then leave the room and no one would know. Hell, he could kiss her twice and no one would know.

Crawl on top of her.

Caress her soft skin.

Pull that shirt back off her body. . .

“I know,” he whispered, letting go of her hand. He moved towards the door, fighting the urge to stay instead. “Goodnight, Byleth.”

“. . . Goodnight, Claude.”

Claude and Byleth had to be sleeping together. . . Right?

It was so obvious! The entire evening, they kept sneaking glances at each other and making gestures while they thought no one else was looking. Not just that evening, but the last time Hilda, Lorenz, and their respective family members dined with them, they had done the same thing! But Hilda was observant, far more observant than her best friend gave her credit for.

She had made a habit of analyzing Claude’s moods and behaviors way back when they were teenagers, when he was still little more than a mystery to alleviate her boredom. Back when Claude’s skin was tanner and he still had the cutest little hints of an accent from goddess-knew-where. He used to ogle over Byleth back then, too, but the context was entirely different. In recent months, Claude pined after Byleth in a manner that never seemed to indicate anything more than flirting was going on. But in Derdriu, Hilda could have cut through their sexual tension like a knife.

If they weren’t sleeping together, Claude was the biggest fool on the planet.

“What’s on your mind, love?” Lorenz asked, pulling Hilda back to the present. They were on their way to the Goneril’s home in the city, having just dropped off Lysithea and Marianne at the capital building. Lorenz’s voice was still hoarse, a shattered remnant of what it had been before Edelgard put a knife to his throat, but it was at least getting better daily.

“I think Claude and Byleth are having sex with each other,” Hilda answered. She didn’t hide things from Lorenz. One of the benefits of his lingering snobbery was that he wasn’t the kind to gossip. Hilda could tell Lorenz anything, and no one else would ever hear it from his lips.

Lorenz made a noise of disgust. “Darling, why would you ever say such a thing like that?”

“Because it’s true!”

“It better not be!” Lorenz groaned. “I will completely and fully lose all respect for the professor if I ever find out that—“ he shuddered dramatically. “I can’t even say it, the thought is too horrible.”

“Oh, shut up. You don’t mean that,” Hilda sighed. “You like Claude, and you know it.”

“I _tolerate_ Claude. There’s a difference.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “I for one, would be happy if I found out I was right.”

“What makes you so sure that they’re into each other like that?”

“They’ve always been into each other, baby.”

“Not at the academy.”

Hilda snickered. “Please. They wanted each other, they just couldn’t admit it due to surrounding circumstances.”

“Humph” Lorenz sighed. Hilda looked up at him. This was the first moment they had had alone—_truly_ alone—since parting ways at Myrddin Bridge. She didn’t want to quarrel with him. She also didn’t want the moment to end with Lorenz dropping her off at her doorstep.

“Are you coming in for a while?” Hilda raised her hands to the scarf around her neck and untied the knot holding it in place.

Lorenz looked down at her with a furrowed brow. “Not if Holst is awake.”

“Holst is an eighty-year-old man. He’s been asleep for hours,” Hilda assured him. He unwrapped the scarf from around her neck, revealing the low neckline of her dress. Lorenz’s eyes wandered downward, and his breathing shallowed. Hilda shifted her body to give him a better view. She did not pick that dress out for nothing, and she was going to make damn sure he knew why she had decided to wear it.

“My father will be up early in the morning.”

“Who cares? You’re out late anyway,” Hilda sighed. Her impatience slipped through her tone. Still, she was much better at this game than he was. The carriage stopped in front of her home, and Hilda stepped out of the carriage unceremoniously, ensuring she crawled over Lorenz’s lap as she did so. “But if you’d rather behave while we’re still in the city, I guess I can’t blame you. Say hi to your dad for me when you get home.” She smiled, leaning over in what was perhaps a little too excessive of a manner to brush a kiss against his lips. Then she turned away quickly, ensuring her hips swayed lightly from side to side as she walked to the front door without looking backwards.

“Hilda, wait,” Lorenz called. Hilda felt her entire body light on fire with those two words. But she wouldn’t give in that easily, not when Lorenz was so fun to tease. She turned around, fingers lightly resting on the door handle, and she blinked up at her lover in mock surprise.

“Did you forget something?” she asked innocently.

“Shut up,” Lorenz rasped. He kissed her furiously. “I know you’re doing this on purpose.”

Hilda _most certainly_ was winding him up on purpose, but where was the fun in admitting that? “And what if Daddy Dearest finds out you stayed the night here?” Hilda asked. She opened the door, pulling him inside as he continued to kiss along her neck. His hands grabbed at her like she was his only reason for living.

“Fuck my father,” Lorenz growled, his voice sounding the strongest it had in days. His fingers clenched at Hilda’s body tighter, making her gasp. She grabbed Lorenz’s face in her hands and kissed him until she could scarcely breath. “I want you.”

“Then take me,” Hilda said. She led him up to her room, encouraging him with kisses along the way until she had him behind closed doors. Lorenz chuckled, but something about the action turned into a cough. He pushed Hilda away, doubling over as the throaty sound forced itself out of his body, leaving Hilda to watch helplessly as he coughed up a single droplet of blood.

_Blood._

_Blood pooled around Ferdinand’s lifeless body, drenching red hair until it turned a darker, horrific shade. Just beyond his corpse, Edelgard forced Lorenz backwards with her. Away from Hilda. Away from her protection. Forcing her to watch desperately as the knife at his throat plunged into his skin._

_His eyes widened._

_A scream escaped Hilda’s lips._

_And all she could see at his throat was more blood._

“Hilda?” Lorenz asked. “Hilda, it’s okay. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

She was gasping. Clutching the edge of her desk with shaking fingers. Her breaths were short and sharp and painful.

“Hilda.”

“You can’t die on me,” Hilda gasped. “I can’t stand it, okay? Any time I hear you cough or see that fucking bandage around your neck, I—“ She choked back a sob. “Goddess, I just keep seeing Ferdie lying dead on the ground.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to see you like that. I _can’t_ see you like that. I—“

Lorenz clutched her face in his hands. “I am not going to die.”

“You don’t _know_ that!” Hilda glared up at him, her emotions a mixture of fear and anger. Lorenz sighed, resting his forehead on hers. And it was stupid—absolutely girlish and weak and helpless—but that simple motion reduced Hilda into a crying, hot mess. 

“Come here,” Lorenz whispered. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as sobs overcame her.

Hours later, Hilda lightly ran hands through purple hair as Lorenz slept with his head on her chest. He was so peaceful when he slept. No hard scowls or annoyed frowns to mar what was really, quite a handsome face. Hilda never understood why he had to be that way, but at least he was getting better. Hilda had seen Lorenz smile more in the last few months than she did in the entirety of the time they attended the academy together. He had a nice smile. It warmed Hilda’s heart to know that she could have such an effect on what used to be the most snobbish bore to ever plague her existence. Funny, that she would ever love such a man. Yet, Hilda supposed he wasn’t quite like that anymore. He had his moments, sure, but nobody was perfect. Hilda had her own faults, that was for damn sure. But loving Lorenz wasn’t one of them.

_His eyes widened._

_A scream escaped Hilda’s lips._

_And all she could see at his throat was more blood._

Hilda swallowed the fearful sound that threatened to come out of her, afraid of disturbing Lorenz’s peaceful sleep. _Fuck._ She couldn’t deal with this. Not again. Not now. She couldn’t afford to relive that nightmare. Not when they were so close to going back to war.

Hilda grasped at the empty spaces of her mind, searching for something—_anything_—to distract her from the fear of death that plagued her. What was it she had been discussing with Lorenz earlier? When they were in the carriage? Ah, yes. Claude and Byleth. Hilda thought they were finally getting together. A perfect distraction. Yes. Byleth and Claude. Claude was a drag. He never gave out information without being interrogated. But Byleth? Well, Hilda had asked her out to brunch for a reason. She was much more talkative when Claude wasn’t around to take over. Hilda was certain she could get her to open up. But it would probably require a bit of planning.

It could take hours to figure out the details.

Wonderful.

A perfect distraction.

So, what was Hilda going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m uhhhhh not so good at the whole “political meeting” thing but hopefully that wasn’t a total drag to read lol. Next few chapters should be more fun ;)


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad ass bitch. Hater of work. Second best schemer in all of Fódlan. Hilda mother fucking Goneril pries into her best friend’s love life, and succeeds in providing him an opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting that all of the carpet is being taken out and replaced in my home this upcoming weekend, meaning I might be too busy packing up furniture to edit. If that happens, I might have to skip next weekend and delay the next chapter by a week, because my weekdays will be focused on moving all of the furniture back in. :( Sorry, kiddies.  
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one!

Fashion was horribly underrated by most people. Hilda, however, was smarter than most people. She knew how to dress to get what she wanted from anyone. But Byleth would be tricky. She was a mercenary, so Hilda didn’t want to give her any reason to be on the defensive. No sharp edges, no silver metal. Nothing cold, or even vaguely resembling a weapon. But Hilda could not be too frivolous, either, as Byleth had a very no-nonsense manner about her. So, she opted for a simple knee-length dress with brown boots, pulled half her hair up into a tail, then walked out the door.

“No makeup?” Holst teased her as she walked out the door. Which was a stupid question. Of course Hilda was wearing makeup, she just wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup. Not that she expected Holst to know the difference. “You aren’t seeing Lorenz, then.”

“No, I’m seeing my old professor,” Hilda replied, making a face at her brother before she turned her back on him.

“Good luck to her!” Holst called sarcastically. “Goddess knows what tricks you have up your sleeve when you want something.”

Brothers could be such assholes.

Hilda rode her horse to Claude’s estate, enjoying the changing of the seasons. It was much, much warmer down in Derdriu than it was up in the mountains of Garreg Mach, with a gentle breeze coming in from the waters on the other side of the city. It would be a waste to take the carriage.

Besides, Hilda had begrudgingly grown to love the freedom of horseback riding. Something she never expected from herself until her year at Garreg Mach.

Byleth was already outside when Hilda arrived, walking with Claude in one of his gardens. They seemed to be having a private conversation when Hilda approached, heads ducked and speaking in low whispers. Even more fuel for Hilda’s interrogation. “Are you ready?” Hilda called, drawing their attention. Claude gave her that usual I’m-trying-to-be-easy-going-but-it’s-not-quite-reaching-my-eyes smile, while Byleth gave her a curt nod. Oh, boy. This was going to be fun. “Sorry to leave you behind, sweetie,” Hilda said to Claude, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“No you’re not,” Claude laughed, giving her a quick kiss back. He stared intently at her, eyes questioning what purpose Hilda had in stealing his beloved crush from him.

Hilda pretended not to notice. She effortlessly looped her arm through Byleth’s and led her away from the garden. “I’ll have her back this afternoon, don’t worry!” Then, she turned to Byleth, a sweet smile on her face. “I hope you’re hungry, because the place I’m taking you to has the best food in Derdriu.”

Hilda chattered endlessly for the first hour or so. Not to say that Byleth said nothing, but. . . Well, nobody talked as much as Hilda. That was just a fact. Besides, it was easiest to disarm people when you talked with them. People were always more willing to share if Hilda shared first. So, she talked about the city, the latest trends in fashion that she picked up on while visiting home, and the two-day vacation she and Lorenz had planned to get a final moment of privacy before returning to Garreg Mach.

“I’m surprised Lorenz agreed to that,” Byleth chuckled. “He seems so. . .”

“Stuck-up?” Hilda guessed. She knew what her boyfriend was. No sense in denying it.

“I was going to say ‘straight-laced’,” Byleth said with a grin.

Hilda smiled and shrugged. “He’s different with me, more relaxed. Not always, of course, but enough to let his guard down,” she explained. She picked a grape off her near-empty plate and popped it in her mouth. “I imagine Claude is much the same way.”

“Yeah,” Byleth laughed. “He’s a lot easier to talk to one-on-one.” Her eyes widened slightly, followed by a slight flush to her cheeks, which she tried to hide by fanning her face. “It’s really warm out today, isn’t it?” she asked.

_Byleth, sweetie, you’re not very subtle_, Hilda thought. “It seems like you two have been getting along better recently,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Definitely better than you were a couple months ago.”

Byleth smiled, little more than a tilt of the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you for the little talk that we had about that,” Byleth said.

“Which talk?” Hilda asked. There had been a lot of talks. Talks between Hilda and Claude. Talks between Hilda and Byleth. If only the two of them would talk to _each other_ more, then Hilda would have much less work to do.

“When you suggested that I take the time to get to know Claude again,” Byleth said. Her smile grew a little wider at his name. “If I hadn’t started taking the time to repair our friendship—well, I’m not so sure that I would be sitting here today.”

Hilda took a sip of her wine, buying herself a few seconds to pick her next words. “You definitely seem a lot happier,” she said. “I wondered if Claude had something to do with it.”

That pretty little blush swept across Byleth’s face again. “He might.”

Hilda wasn’t sure if she should think this was going to be too easy, or prepare for Byleth to suddenly be on guard. “I don’t blame you,” Hilda said, pretending to occupy herself with her food. “If I had a clever and handsome man leaning on my every word, I would be happy to have him around, too.”

Hilda could see Byleth make a face out of the corner of her eye, and it took everything in Hilda’s power to hide her smirk. “Claude doesn’t lean on my every word.”

_No denial about the handsome part._ “Sure he does,” Hilda sighed, still not looking up from her plate. She cut herself a piece of honeyed ham. “You could probably tell him the sky was yellow and that wyverns don’t have wings, and he would find a way to convince himself it’s true.”

“Hilda,” Byleth laughed, “you’re being unfair. He respects my opinion as I respect his.”

_I’m sure you “respect” a whole lot of other things about each other._ Hilda chewed and swallowed the ham. “And that hasn’t changed at all since coming to Derdriu?”

Byleth shrugged. “Should it?”

“Well,” Hilda began. “When you’re stuck alone with someone for weeks on end, you tend to either get significantly closer or you find yourself struck with the need to take a big step back from each other.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of Fódlan’s Locket. “I, for example, have gotten my fill of my parents and my brothers for easily the next three or four months. I could probably go the rest of the war without seeing them again.”

“Surely, they can’t be that bad.”

“They can,” Hilda insisted. A flare of annoyance swelled her chest. She didn’t want to talk about herself. She wanted Byleth to slip up and admit that she had something going on with Claude. “Then again, maybe family is different than friends. Could you imagine if you and Claude got sick of each other?” She pretended to sigh at the thought, lightly shaking her head. “I just hope for the sake of the war that your and Claude don’t start bickering and—“

“We won’t,” Byleth said quickly, her tone assuring. “We haven’t gotten sick of each other. If anything, being in Derdriu has helped us become closer.”

_A-ha_, Hilda thought. She looked up at Byleth with a slight pout and furrowed her eyebrows. “Closer than really good friends?” she asked innocently.

Byleth stammered. When no coherent words left her mouth, she opted for taking a long drink of the water in front of her. Her face was turning red.

“Byleth?” Hilda asked, keeping her tone light and sweet. “Is something the matter?”

She must have laid on the innocence too thick—that, or Byleth was growing more perceptive as the afternoon passed—as Byleth glared from over the rim of her glass. “How long have you known?” she asked flatly after setting the cup back down.

This time, Hilda did allow herself a slight smile. “Does this mean you’re admitting to it?”

“I asked first,” Byleth said. Normally, her eerily-neutral stare made Hilda want to flee as quickly as possible (too many stern talks five years ago probably had a part to play in that, since Hilda got in more than her fair share of trouble) but in that moment, it only made Hilda more giddy.

“I started picking up on it when we had dinner at Claude’s,” she said. “But seeing the way you behaved when comfortably surrounded by friends made me more certain. I just want to here you say it out loud.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m not entirely sure what you want me to admit.”

Maybe Claude wasn’t the only coy one in the relationship. “That you’ve been sleeping with Claude in Derdriu,” she whispered, in case anyone nearby could overhear them.

Byleth’s eyes widened, and her face turned a stark shade of red, far deeper than her little blushes from earlier. “No,” she said. Hilda frowned and tilted her head. “Claude and I are not sleeping together.”

There was something. . . off about that statement. It was worded far too precisely. “‘Not sleeping together,’ as in you did once and decided it was a mistake, or. . .”

Byleth looked up at Hilda with exasperation. She opened and closed her mouth several times in a failed attempt to answer. _Oh, my my._ Hilda had not expected that it would be _that_ bad. Byleth was never so flustered. “We have not. . . Had se with each other.”

Again, too careful of an answer. “Then what have you done?” Hilda asked.

She tried not to look too smug when Byleth’s face grew red.

“How does he look naked?”

“Hilda!” Byleth hissed.

“I’m just curious!”

“I haven’t—we never—“ She groaned.

“Okay, but you’ve done _something_.” _I’m going to be really disappointing if she tells me they’ve only held hands_, Hilda thought.

“Yes,” Byleth said flatly. “We made out once.” She groaned to herself. “Twice.”

_Better than hand holding, at least_. “Was it nice?”

Byleth suddenly was very interested in her plate.

“It’s a yes or no question, I promise I won’t ask you to elaborate.”

“It was very nice,” Byleth murmured, still not looking up.

“Nice enough that. . . You would like to do more with him?”

That time, Byleth did look up, an intensity in her eyes that Hilda was not used to seeing directed at her. “We’re. . .” she finally started, her voice significantly lowered. “Delaying doing anything more until we leave Derdriu.”

That. . . Hilda had not expected. “Why?”

“To avoid a scandal,” Byleth said. She gestured vaguely. “Seems odd to start a relationship as we’re asking the nation’s nobility to give us soldiers and supplies so we can fight a war.” She absently tugged at a strand of waist-length hair. “Especially with the sort of attentions that we’ve already been getting.”

Hilda sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. She couldn’t deny that she understood what Byleth was talking about. “I heard what Daddy Nightmare had to say when we were all going to bed,” she whispered. “I’m guessing that’s what you’re referring to.”

“In part,” Byleth said. “Not that I’m going to live my life based on that man’s recommendation, but. . . Claude is certainly sensitive about it.”

“That’s not surprising,” Hilda said dryly. “He’s a lot more sensitive than he lets on.”

“I don’t think I would go that far.”

“That’s because you don’t listen to him mope as often as I do.” Something nagged at the back of Hilda’s head. “Did you say ‘start a relationship’ earlier?” A grin spread on her face as Byleth laughed nervously. “And here I was afraid I would have to give you a lecture about hurting my boy.”

“Goddess, Hilda,” Byleth hissed. Her nervous laughter continued. “This isn’t teenage gossip.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Byleth groaned. “Please,“ she begged “I like Claude a lot, but things are. . . complicated, and they’re not about to get any easier. I’m still trying to figure out what a relationship with him would even _mean_, given everything else going on right now.” She hid her face behind her hand. “And I would really rather not be teased.”

Hilda groaned And rolled her eyes. “Why must the two of you make everything ’complicated’?” she asked. It made her work much more tiresome. “Can’t you just admit your feelings then partake in too much PDA like any normal couple?”

At least that made Byleth smile. “Tempting,” she said. “But it’s difficult to do with the constant feeling like we’re being scrutinized.” She shrugged. “I’m hoping leaving Derdriu will ease that feeling.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Hilda asked.

“I guess we wait longer.”

“But how long is _too long_, sweetie?”

Byleth didn’t seem to have an answer to that.

“Do you really want to just keep waiting and waiting for more excuses to pop up and waste the precious little time we have left because you’re worried about the opinions of others?”

Byleth gave her a scrutinizing look.

“The time you have left,” Hilda corrected silently.

“Is there something going on with your, Hilda?” Byleth asked.

Hilda waved her hand dismissively, forcing away the panic in her chest by masking it with annoyance. She had a mission, after all. “We aren’t talking about me, we’re talking about you,” she said. “Do you want to be with Claude right now?”

Byleth pressed her lips in a firm line, averting her gaze.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting him,” Hilda assured her. “I’m just trying to get a straight answer out of you.” _Hell_, Hilda thought, _maybe you needed a straight answer out of yourself_.

“Yes,” Byleth said quietly. “I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want him.”

That made Hilda smile. A simple “yes,” would have satisfied her. But “I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want him?” That was delicious. “Then don’t wait,” Hilda whispered. “Others are always going to give you a reason to delay, but if you want to be with him and if he wants to be with you—“ There was no “if” about that last part—“then just do it.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It _is_ simple,” Hilda insisted. She groaned internally, then poured herself a glass of juice from the chilled pitched on the table. “Tell you what,” she said. “You should take a day-long vacation. We aren’t supposed to meet up at Garreg Mach for another—what, three days?” She smirked, raising her eyebrows mischievously. “See if a little privacy helps you see how un-complicated your feelings for each other could be.”

“I don’t think Claude will go for it,” Byleth sighed. She frowned to herself. “He’s trying to get as much work done as he can before we leave again. Getting his affairs in order, as he calls it. It’s a struggle to get him away from his desk even just to eat.”

“If Claude would rather do paperwork than spend a day alone with you, he’s a fucking moron.”

At that, Byleth laughed. It was probably the biggest laugh Hilda had produced from her old professor. And she wasn’t even trying that time! “Can you call him that, as his best friend?”

“I can call him that _because_ he’s my best friend,” Hilda corrected.

“And what if he tries to argue that he and I going away together alone is too suspicious?”

Hilda straightened her shoulders. Now, she was finally in business. “We can work around that. I just need to lay some groundwork after I drop you off. . .”

They had a plan. And it was supposed to be simple. Hilda had convinced Claude to take a day off so “the three of them” could go on a day trip. She would arrive early in the morning, play excited as she helped with the packing for the day-long picnic that she, Byleth, and Claude were supposed to go on. Then, she would suddenly and dreadfully fall ill just before they left, leaving Claude and Byleth to go on their own.

Only. . . Hilda wasn’t feeling quite herself when she woke up that morning. She wrote it off as nerves for Byleth’s sake, pushing herself to get out of bed and get ready for that day’s non-activities. The horse ride to Claude’s was a nightmare, though, with Hilda having to focus her eyes far off in the distance to keep from falling over. When she reached the stables, she grabbed ahold of the first stable boy she could find. “Bring Miss Eisner to me, will you?” she asked sweetly. She bent over a pile of hay and upheaved her breakfast the second he left, the sickly sweet aftertaste of bile lingering on her tongue. Footsteps approached her as Hilda worked to spit out the taste.

“You might be over committing to the plan,” Byleth’s voice said.

Hilda laughed weakly. “Well,” she groaned. “At least this way Claude can’t accuse me of lying.” She looked up over her shoulder. “Can you tell him I’m going to rest here, though? I am _not_ getting back on that horse. Not when I’m feeling like—“ Hilda gagged, then leaned her forehead on a wooden pillar and groaned.

“I’ll let him know,” Byleth said. Hilda sighed with relief. “If you would rather we stayed—“

“No!” Hilda shouted, whipping her head around then immediately regretting the motion. She moaned as her stomach flipped. “This was the plan all along, right? I’ll be fine. Lorenz and I had plans anyway, so I’ll send him here to check up on me.”

“Are you sure?”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.” She was not about to let all of her good work go to waste. “Now, off with you,” she said. “Have a fun day. And be sure to tell me all of the details when you get back.”

Byleth nodded slowly. “Feel better,” she said weakly. “I’ll make sure a room is ready for you before I go.”

“Thank you,” Hilda murmured. She leaned back on the wooden pillar, listening to the sound of receding footsteps as she fought the second wave of nausea.

Maybe she had eaten something bad the night before. . .

With a tug, Claude at last had the entirety of the day’s supplies packed behind his wyvern’s saddle. He still wasn’t sure how Hilda had convinced him to cancel an entire day’s plans so that they could go have a picnic in the mountains, but she did. She had a knack for that sort of thing. And while he couldn’t help thinking there was something else going on, he had to admit: he was looking forward to having some time away from the politics and war speak. Additionally, even if he and Byleth wouldn’t be entirely alone. . . Well, Byleth had agreed to let Claude tell Hilda about their relationship, so at least nothing would have to be hidden. Hilda was Claude’s best friend, after all. She would have to know eventually.

Byleth approached him, dressed for the cold, frigid air they would experience in the sky. She pulled at the thick fabric, no doubt uncomfortable due to the weather being notably warmer on the ground. “I thought you left to meet Hilda at the stables?”

“I did,” Byleth said sullenly.

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Then where is she now?”

“Getting sick in the stables,” Byleth replied.

Claude leaned against the wyvern. “Why ride over here is she was sick? She should be in bed.”

“I think she didn’t realize she was sick until she got here.” Byleth shrugged. “I asked Greta to set up a room for her so she can rest here.”

Claude nodded, his eyebrows knitted together. “That’s probably for the best,” he said. “I wouldn’t want her to have an accident.” He frowned. “Should we cancel our trip, then?”

Byleth shook her head. “I offered, but she said for us to go on without her. Not to waste a good day just because she can’t go.”

Claude eyed Byleth skeptically, looking for any signs that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. The fact that Hilda would suddenly fall ill right before their journey was. . . Convenient, too convenient. But Byleth was not a great liar, and the way her eyebrows knitted together, with the frown curling her lips downward, he doubted that her concern was anything but genuine.

It almost made Claude want to stay behind for Hilda more. But, if her being sick meant a day alone with Byleth. . .

“We can always cut the trip short so we can come back and check on her,” Claude offered.

Byleth nodded, her mood seeming to be more eased. “How soon can we be ready to leave?” she asked.

“Right now,” Claude said. “I packed everything on the one wyvern since there wasn’t a lot, and I was going to saddle two more wyverns. But if it’s just you and me, we can ride together.” He hopped on the saddle and extended his arm to help Byleth up behind him. She pulled herself up onto the seat behind him, arms lightly wrapped around his waist. When they soared into the air, she clung onto him more tightly.

They flew for a little over an hour, to a clearing lined by a lake, on the border between the Alliance and the Kingdom. Claude knew of the location because he used to meet with Sylvain there at the beginning of the war. There was a small village nearby, but not close enough that the pair would be disturbed when discussing Dimitri’s rebellion. It would have been the perfect place to have a picnic with Hilda and Byleth.

And now, Claude realized, it would be the perfect place for a quiet day with Byleth alone.

The pair wordlessly removed the extra layers of clothing they wore for the ride, then took their belongings off the wyvern’s back and set up a small picnic area. When they were done, Claude unsaddled their mount and gave it the signal to roam freely. The beast made a low rumbling sound in its throat then launched itself in the air to stretch its wings. When Claude looked back at Byleth, she still looked worried. “Are you thinking about Hilda?” Claude asked.

Byleth, who was straightening out an edge of the fleece blanket, jumped slightly and looked up at him with wide eyes. After a wordless moment passed, she blinked, then looked back down at her hands. “A little bit,” she said. “I guess I sort of feel guilty leaving her behind.”

“But you said she told us to still go?”

“She did,” Byleth confirmed. Her cheeks colored slightly.

“This wasn’t planned, right?” Claude asked. “Her pretending to be sick so we could get away without turning heads?”

Byleth shot him an annoyed look. But she didn’t deny it.

“You could have just let me in on it. That’s all I’m saying.”

Byleth sighed, shaking her head as she resumed her work of securing the edges of the blanket. Claude silently started helping. “Hilda _is_ actually sick,” Byleth said. “But you are right, she was going to find an excuse to not come last minute regardless.”

Claude looked up at her.

“In a way, her throwing up in the stables actually makes for a better alibi, but. . .” Byleth shrugged. “I guess this just isn’t how I wanted to find a way to be alone with you. The idea was a lot more fun when no one was actually ill.”

“We can always go back you know,” Claude offered. “But. . .”

“It means missing an opportunity to be alone together,” Byleth finished for him. She tried to smile. “And I think Hilda might kill us if we come back without enjoying ourselves.”

Claude took in her expression as he knelt on the blanket beside her. Her soft smile, the expectant look in her eyes. “Then for poor, sweet Hilda’s sake, you have me for the whole day,” he said. “This is the sort of sacrifice I am willing to make.”

Byleth playfully rolled her eyes. “Thank you for such a grand gesture.”

“Anything for you.” He smiled, then placed a tentative kiss to her forehead. “Besides, you’re right. This isn’t something we’ll easily be able to do as time goes on.” He laid flat on his back in the middle of the blanket. “Might as well enjoy it.” After a pause, Byleth laid down next to him, leaning into his side.

“What now?” she asked.

Claude shrugged. “We could literally do this all day, and I wouldn’t be disappointed. It’s been a long time since I took a nap in the sunshine.”

“And here I was afraid of you reverting into a workaholic.”

Claude laughed, and even Byleth allowed herself a chuckle. She turned her head, and her lips were dangerously close to Claude’s. “I would give up a nap if it meant I could kiss you all day instead,” he confessed.

Byleth huffed. “Isn’t that why we’re out here?”

“Oh, is it?” Claude teased. “Had I known you were bringing me out of my home to seduce me, I would have chosen completely different undergarments.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t always as funny as you think you are,” she said, but her tone was still light.

“Am I right, though?”

“You can’t just ask a lady if she intends on seducing you.”

“Good thing you have been saying all month that you are no lady.” Claude laced his fingers into Byleth’s mint green hair, and she adjusted the position of her body until her beautiful pink lips were just above his. Then stopped. Claude did his best to read her mood, to determine if the hesitation was a manner of nervousness or a tease. When he gently pressed his fingers against the back of her head, she leaned in closer with no resistance, a smile curled those darling lips of hers upward. She kissed him, just once. Only once. Then all too soon, she was sitting up again, reaching for the basket filled with fruits, bread, sliced meats and cheeses, and a bottle of wine.

“No, come back,” Claude whined. “You’re too cruel.”

“Cruel, or hungry?” Byleth asked. She still had that smile on her lips, one that only made Claude’s body heat up more as he watched her sit with her feet tucked under her legs, fishing for two of the cups Claude had packed for the wine and pouring the dark red liquid for each of them. “We’ve got the whole afternoon,” she said in a quieter tone.

There was a promise in that tone.

Claude smirked, taking one the cups from her hand and kissing her shoulder. “We’ve got the whole day.”

Byleth made sandwiches for them both. As they ate, the pair swapped stories of their lives before they had met, asking about the little things they never managed to ask each other. At some point, the wyvern landed back in the clearing, stretching out on the grass to bathe in the sun. When the sandwiches were gone, Claude reached over Byleth’s body to pull out the blueberries that had been picked from the area surrounding his home, and decided he would use them to gauge Byleth’s willingness to be affectionate now that they were entirely alone. He fed them one by one to Byleth, making her laugh over and over again between complaints that she was an _adult_ and was _perfectly capable of feeding herself_. But Claude adored making her laugh, and therefore kept feeding them to her, holding the small basket just out of Byleth’s reach so she could not take them without giving Claude a kiss first. “There’s no winning with you, is there?” Byleth said with a laugh. Claude pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, a second to her jaw, and Byleth responded in kind, her lips blazing a warm trail from his chin to his beard. Claude’s test really was giving wonderful results.

“No,” he said simply, tracing his lips along her throat. He smiled when he felt her make a low rumble of complaint. “You’re not angry about it, though.”

“No, I’m not,” Byleth admitted. She moved her head to kiss him again.

Some time later, Claude was laying on his side, tracing the criss-crossing scars along Byleth’s arms. “Does it bother you to have these?” he asked her.

Byleth shook her head. She lifted the bottle of wine and refilled her cup. “It’s hard to get taken seriously as a mercenary without a good scar or two to show for your experience. Especially as a woman.”

Claude raised his eyebrows. “I remember you saying that,” he said, kissing one of the puckered marks. “But what if you weren’t a mercenary anymore?”

“Are you suggesting I take a different career path?” she asked. Though her tone was teasing, there was a weight to the question.

“No,” Claude answered honestly. “I’m just asking.”

Byleth hummed in thought. “I like my scars,” she answered. “At this point, they are a piece of me, and even if I were to take up another line of work—professor, butcher, chef, archbishop—“ she raised an eyebrow at the last one “It would never erase the things I’ve seen and done to earn these scars.”

Claude chuckled, then resumed his tracing, absently planting a kiss to Byleth’s cheek as he did so. “That’s fair enough,” he said. “Any good stories behind any of them?”

“Oh, plenty of good stories.”

“Care to share?”

Byleth chuckled. After a moment of thought, she lifted her tunic to expose her abdomen to him. His eyes briefly flickered to the scar on her left hip before following Byleth’s fingers to a set of puckered indentations. Perhaps he could ask her about the scar on her hip later. “Do you know what these are?” she asked. Claude shook his head, a light smile on his lips. “Bite marks.” Byleth smiled. Claude leaned in closer, examining the size of the incisors and the width between them. Pale lines between them indicated the scraping of skin from the front teeth, which he counted as well.

“Wolf?” He asked, though he doubted himself even as he said it. There was not evidence of enough teeth for it to be any canine. . .

“Cat,” Byleth replied. Claude shot her a look.

“With teeth that size?” He did not mean for doubt to be so heavy in his voice, but it was.

Byleth seemed to be in good humor about it, as her eyes flashed mischievously. “Strange, right?” she asked. “It was pouring rain, and our mercenary group was stuck between villages. I went into a cave to see if it was deep enough for shelter when—“ She dug two fingers playfully into Claude’s arm. “I got attacked by the biggest cat I’ve ever seen.”

“Was it a lion?”

“No.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know what a lion is.”

“Don’t we all?” Claude said with a slight chuckle. “Lions aren’t native to Fódlan anyway. I don’t think there are any wild cats on the continent big enough to give you this scar.”

“Well, clearly there’s one.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a wolf?”

“Not a wolf.”

“Did you kill it?”

“No, it ran away.”

“Then how could you really know?”

Byleth knocked Claude down playfully. “I know,” she insisted.

“Fine, fine,” Claude sighed. He pulled Byleth down and stole a kiss from her. “I guess I believe you.”

Byleth hummed. “Trouble.”

“Thank you.” Then he kissed her again. “I’ve been bitten too, you know.”

“Oh, have you now?”

“Mm-hmm. By a wyvern.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows. “I don’t believe you.”

“Am I the type to lie?” Claude asked teasingly.

“I showed you mine, it’s only fair to show me yours,” Byleth chuckled. She poked his ribs when he didn’t move.

“No! It’s on my thigh.”

Byleth’s eyes lit up. “All the more reason to show me.”

“No,” Claude laughed. “You lifted your shirt, you are asking me to disrobe. That’s not the same at all.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “You really _are_ trying to seduce me.”

Byleth playfully rolled her eyes, lifting her cup of wine to her lips. She tilted to rest on her elbows. When she looked back at him, something dangerously close to mischief flashed in her green eyes. “The day is getting warmer than I anticipated.”

“Well, winter has officially given way to spring,” Claude hummed, keeping his suspicion out of his tone. “Are you surprised?”

“This high up in the mountains?” Byleth asked. “Yes.” She finished her wine then looked out toward the small lake. “I’m going swimming,” she announced.

“What?” Claude laughed. He sat up as Byleth began to stand. “Teach, that water has to be freezing.”

“Then I’ll be sure to enjoy the rush when I dive in,” Byleth said. There was no smile on her face, nothing to give away that she was playing with him save for that _thing_ that trickled into her voice and made Claude’s heart beat faster. She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes. “Care to join me?”

“No, thanks. I hate the cold.”

Byleth shrugged. “Shame.” She removed her shirt, then started undoing the laces on her pants, acting as if she didn’t know Claude was watching her every move, taking in the sight of her bare skin as she stood in front of him in only her undergarments. She walked out towards the water, hips swaying lazily from side to side. And Claude knew she did _not_ normally walk like that. Why the hell was she walking like that? It was not until she was at the water’s edge that she removed her remaining clothing.

“Okay, okay, fine!” Claude growled. He scrambled to his feet, hating himself for being such easy prey the whole while. Byleth didn’t even look at him as she stepped into the water. Claude was being played with, and he knew it. He tore off his shirt. “You insane woman!” Shimmied out of his pants. “If you wanted to get me in the water so bad!” Byleth turned back to him, as if just realizing that he was talking to her. Claude could just make out the mock-surprised look on her face. That somehow made his blood boil. He ran toward her. Byleth faced him fully, gracing him with the view of her naked body in the sunlight.

Then fell backwards into the water.

Claude stumbled, trying to determine what had made her fall so suddenly, started running faster _just in case_, when Byleth’s head emerged from beneath the surface, several paces away. “Teach?” Claude called.

“The water’s not that cold,” Byleth shouted back, pulling at the strands of hair that stuck to her face.

“How the hell did you get over there so fast?”

“Did I never tell you I’m a wonderful swimmer?” Byleth asked. She had that playful smile on her face as Claude hesitated at the water’s edge. “Claude von Riegan,” she said teasingly. “Are you afraid of the water?”

Claude smirked at her, then removed his underclothes. “I am no such thing,” he said.

Then he dove in.

The water was _fucking freezing_, by the way. Claude made a mental note to never trust Byleth on the temperature of water again. “You minx!” he gasped, resisting the urge to shiver as he swam out to her. “You tricked me!”

Byleth threw her head back and laughed, so deeply that Claude doubted he had ever actually seen her laugh before. Oh, Claude was going to make her pay. . .

The moment he reached her, she dove under the water again, coming up even deeper in the pond. Teasing Claude. Taunting him, really. Gods, how was she so fast? The fire in Claude’s blood was the only thing keeping him warm. But Claude was clever, and he was going to make her pay, indeed.

When Byleth sank underneath the water again, he kept an eye on her form, visible in the clear water now that Claude wasn’t creating waves with his own movements. She re-emerged a little closer, and Claude scraped his hand along the surface of the water, aiming the trajectory straight at her. Byleth squealed as the cold water hit her face, shouting his name in indignation. Claude used the distraction as an open door, striding to her on powerful strokes from arms strengthened by years pulling a bow. Before Byleth could recover, Claude was tackling her, laughter in his throat, playfully dunking her into the water then catching her lips in a kiss the moment they came up for air, enjoying the way it made her gasp.

But Byleth didn’t play fair.

She wrapped her legs around his torso, pulling his body down even as she continued to kiss him. The shock of the cold water made his breath hitch. And gods, she _really_ wasn’t wearing anything. That certainly didn’t help his concentration. When they both returned to the surface, Claude splashed Byleth again and she splashed him back, laughing whole-heartedly. She tried to swim away, and Claude let her against his better instincts. If he kept her that close for a second longer, he was certain he would forget to keep kicking his legs and would drown himself for the sake of one more kiss.

One more touch of bare skin.

“I’m going back to shore,” Claude announced, moving back to the spot where they had left the remnants of their clothing. He could hear Byleth stop splashing behind him.

“No,” she complained. She tried to splash him again, but she must have been too far away to hit him, as Claude did not feel any of the droplets land on his skin. “Come back!”

“Make me!” Claude laughed. He kept swimming away. “I told you, it’s too cold!” Claude did not hear her reply, but just before he reached the shore, Byleth was on him. Literally on him. Her arms clung to his shoulders and legs tangled in his. “Byleth!” Claude called out in shock. He stumbled backwards into the water. “What are you doing?”

“Making you stay,” Byleth laughed in his ear. Claude reached his arm backwards, looping it around Byleth’s waist to pull her around to his front. He had something clever to say in retort. He really did. But his smile faltered as he took in the sight of Byleth—very naked, very close—bare chest glistening wet with thin strands of Byleth’s hair clinging to the curves of her body. Suddenly he was very aware of the heat of her thighs wrapped around his torso, and the way that her breaths shortened the longer her looked at her. “Is something wrong?” she whispered.

Claude looked into her eyes, wide and green and asking more questions that Claude could coherently answer in that moment. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. His hands gripped her legs tighter as she smiled at his answer, a reflex from the desire that expanded within him. “Will you have me?” he asked her. “All joking aside. Before everything gets more complicated and we—“

“I will,” Byleth answered quickly. Her hands tugged at his shoulders. “I will.”

That was all Claude needed to hear. He kissed her, again and again as he walked up the shore, his hands roaming the length of her bare back and thighs. Wanting to commit the feel of her to memory. When they reached the grass, Claude dropped to his knees, and Byleth gasped briefly from the drop. She clung to Claude tighter, and _gods_ the feel of her skin against his was driving him wild. He moved one of his hands upward to hold her head as he lowered her back down onto the grass. He planted kisses on her cheek, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, lowering himself downward, enjoying the little gasps that escaped her lips as he kissed her, _touched_ her, as he so often dreamed of doing.

Then, he heard shouting in the distance.

Claude cursed under his breath, lifting his body up to cover Byleth while bringing his eyes upward, praying whatever—or whoever—was coming would not spell out danger for them both. Byleth, pinned beneath him, absolutely did not move. _Stupid_, Claude thought to himself, hating that he felt so vulnerable.

The shouting was closer now. It only sounded like one person—an elderly man, by the sound of it—and Claude did not detect any sense of danger or urgency. Still, he remained in place, until he saw a single white-haired figure appearing from the direction of their picnic. “Hullo?” the old man called.

“Good afternoon, sir!” Claude called. Byleth shot him a glare. She lifted her hands as if to rewind time and Claude shook his head at her. “I ask that you not come any further. You have caught my wife and I in a rather indecent moment. We shall come up to you!”

The man replied hastily as he turned his back to them. Claude could not quite make out the words, but they sounded something like an embarrassed apology. When Claude was certain he would not try to sneak a peak, he lifted himself off Byleth, who had somehow added confusion to her expression without looking any less angry.

“Bandits?” she mouthed. Claude had the same suspicion. It wasn’t uncommon for bandits to lure victims out with an innocent-looking accomplice—be it a woman, child, or elderly man. It was best to be cautious, especially when they were so far away from their weapons. Claude nodded and pressed a finger to his lips. He pulled the ring he always wore off of his pinky finger and pressed it into her palm. The anger in Byleth’s eyes faltered.

“Keep your eyes open,” Claude whispered. He stood up, walking to pick up their underclothes as Byleth slipped the silver ring onto her finger. Claude handed her clothes to her wordlessly. The rest of their belongings were back at the blanket, closer to the man.

Claude looked at Byleth questioningly, and when she nodded, he called back to the man. “Okay, we are at least halfway decent,” he said. The pair started walking up towards the blanket. “The rest of our clothes are closer to you, so that should make it easier to talk.”

“A thousand apologies again fer disturbing yer day,” the old man called. Claude still kept care to keep a wide berth of the man. “You folks must not be from ‘round here,” he continued. “We’ve had trouble with rebels ‘round these parts. The people down at the village know better than t’be—“ he chuckled to himself. “Putting their guard down. I was afraid ye might actually be the rebels when I saw the wyvern fly overhead. Took me nearly an hour t’hike up here. Then I saw the picnic laid out. . .”

“Well, we are sorry for any trouble we’ve caused you,” Claude said politely. The man still had his back turned, and he adjusted his position at the sound of Claude’s voice. The old man had a knife on his belt. A hunting knife, if Claude had to guess. More likely a weapon of self-defense than one for a stealthy attack. Still, he looked around before bending over to gather the remainder of his clothes. Byleth looked cautious as she retrieved hers, as well. They dressed carefully, and Claude continued speaking. “I used to frequent this area a couple years ago, to see an old friend of mine. It was a peaceful place back in those days.”

“Oh, aye,” the old man said mournfully. “We used t’have no trouble here. ‘Til a few week ago. . .” He cleared his throat. Byleth was fully dressed, and Claude was right behind her. As the man continued talking, Byleth knelt down to her pack, fastening the hilt of her simple steel sword to her hips. “Some rebels have been moving through the borders. They haven’t outright attacked the village, but travelers. . . Well, let’s just say it is wise t’be traveling without yer valuables.”

Byleth handed Claude his axe, and he secured it to his side. “Then you’ve hit a stroke of luck,” he said, “because my wife happens to be a mercenary. You can turn around now, by the way.”

The old man turned around, and when he laid his eyes upon Byleth, Claude swore his eyes would pop out of their sockets. “Seiros’s fuckin’ crest,” he muttered, and Claude failed to keep from snickering. Byleth kept her face neutral. The old man, seemingly catching his slip, quickly cleared his throat and brought his hands up in apology. “Beggin’ yer pardon to the both of ye. Never in my life have I seen a woman as—erm, striking as herself, miss.” A smile crept on his lips. “An’ I met quite a lotta women back in my day.”

Claude and Byleth quickly shared a look. “They don’t make women like her where I’m from, either.”

The old man laughed, though it sounded much more like a wheeze. “An’ where might that be?”

“Derdriu,” Claude answered simply. The old man wheezed again.

“Ye seem like the big city type,” he said, but it was with a fondness in his tone. “An’ ye say yer a mercenary?”

“My wife, not me. She didn’t want to settle down quite yet, so I left my life behind to be with her.”

The old man looked back at Byleth. Her hand rested lightly on her sword. Probably for the best to keep their guard up, at least for a hike longer. “How long ago was that?”

“About four months ago,” Claude answered fluidly.

“Does yer husband always do yer talkin’ for ye, miss?”

Byleth looked at the man flatly. “He does enough talking for me, and for himself. I’ve given up on getting him to stop talking.”

The old man wheezed harder, bending in half and resting his hands on his knees to keep upright. Claude gave Byleth an annoyed look, and she smirked in reply. Her expression returned to a neutral position just before the old man straightened his back again. “And are ye working currently? Do ye think you could handle a dozen or two rebels?”

“I am more than willing to try,” Byleth said.

The old man seemed satisfied with that answer. “I shouldn’t leave ye standing here. Let’s get yer stuff an’ the animal back to my village, then we can discuss the details of hiring ye to take care of the rebels.”

“We’ll meet you down in the village once we’ve packed,” Claude told him. The old man smiled.

“Before I go, I oughta got yer names. M’name’s Mason.” He extended his hand. Byleth took it first.

“Byleth Eisner,” she said. Then Claude walked up.

“Cairo Eisner,” he said.

“Strange names,” Mason said. He promptly shuffled away, muttering to himself about young people and missing old-fashioned family names, until disappearing through a dirt path in the trees. Claude waited for several seconds before turning his back. One last check that the man wouldn’t come back with troublemakers. When he was satisfied with the silence, he finally turned to their things and started picking them up.

“My darling husband Cairo,” Byleth said sarcastically. “I understand telling him that we’re married, but why lie to him about your name?”

Claude fastened the leather chord around the first pack, then moved on to the picnic basket. “The town that he’s from is just down the hill,” Claude explained. “And as high up as we are in the mountains, it’s still technically Riegan territory.” All that was left was the blanket. As he folded it, Byleth hefted the wyvern’s saddle onto the large brown beast so it would be ready to pack by the time he was done. “Even a village of two or three-hundred people knows the name of the guy they pay taxes to.” Byleth gave him a look, and he shrugged. “It is what it is, Teach. They pay me money, and I spend the rest of my life airing their grievances.”

“Is that why you volunteered us on our day off to hunt rebels?”

Claude smiled widely. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Well, I certainly would have preferred a relaxing afternoon to ourselves.” Byleth sighed to herself. “But I’m not one to leave people in danger.”

“Nor am I,” Claude said. “Even if it means ruining our fun.”

Byleth looked up at him, and Claude felt his face grow hot as Byleth’s face turned a deep shade of red.

She promptly turned back to the saddle. “Cairo is an Almyran name, yes?”

“Yeah,” Claude said, clearing his throat. “A fairly common one. I couldn’t think of anything else on the fly, but luckily it’s origins aren’t very obvious if you know nothing about Almyra.” He shrugged. “Which I doubt our good friend Mason does.”

“Does it mean ‘victory’? Or ‘victorious’? Something like that.” When Claude laughed, she snuck a glance back at him. “Or am I way off?”

“Oh, no. You got it right,” Claude chuckled. “I’m just still getting used to you. . .” lethal turned fully toward him at his pause. “Remembering everything.”

Byleth shrugged. “I think that’s something we’ll both have to get used to.”

“Good thing we have time.”

Byleth hummed to herself. “I never asked you, and the answer is a little obvious, but. . . your birth name isn’t Claude, is it?”

“Ah, no,” Claude said. He lifted one of the bundles he had wrapped and brought it to the saddle. “I took on the name when I came here.”

Byleth nodded. “Cairo is a good name for a prince.”

“I’ll remember that if I have my own son,” Claude chuckled.

“Is one Cairo not enough?”

Understanding what Byleth was implying, Claude looked down at her. “Cairo is not my birth name,” he said.

Byleth blinked. “It’s not?”

“Nope,” Claude said. He kissed Byleth’s nose, then bent down for another bundle. “My birth name is, ah, very distinctly Almyran. Would be a dead giveaway no matter who I gave it to.”

“Then what is your birth name?”

Claude smiled wickedly. “I’m not telling you,” he teased.

“Claude.”

“Byleth.”

Byleth rolled her eyes, which only made Claude grin wider.

“Come on,” he said, “we can’t leave the good village people waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be all one chapter, until I realized the word count was around 16,000 words (oops), so it had to be split!


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth investigate the nearby rebels.

They arrived at the village, armor on, around the same time Mason did, though they were soon surrounded by others who lived in the village. It appeared they did not often get strangers. Many of them looked up to Byleth in awe, and down at Claude with skepticism. Some things never changed. After taking their wyvern to the local inn, Mason pointed the pair in the direction the rebels had last been seen. “We haven’t seen more than a dozen or so at a time. But ye should be wary in case there’s more.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Now, we don’t have much we can give ye as far as payment. . .”

“Take care of the wyvern, and have a warm meal prepared for when we return,” Byleth told him. “That should be payment enough.”

“Softie,” Claude murmured as they exited the village. Byleth’s eyes crinkled.

“You were the one who said they paid in advance in taxes.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure this just makes you a shit mercenary.”

Byleth elbowed him in the ribs. “Come on, let’s go.”

They hiked for nearly an hour through the forest that neighbored the village, checking for tracks and keeping their eyes and ears open in case of an ambush. “I should probably tell you. . .” Claude murmured, crouching beside a set of twenty or so boot prints that looked far too fresh for Claude’s liking. “I don’t think we’ll want to charge in weapons raised when we find who we’re looking for.”

“Is that the kind of thing you think I’d do in a two-against-twelve scenario?” Byleth whispered. Claude looked at her, and her eyes crinkled again.

“Did you notice back at the clearing, how he said the rebels were ‘moving across the borders’?”

“Yeah. I thought that was interesting.”

“He was referring to the rebels from the Kingdom. The ones I told you about a few months back.”

“I remember. You said you had friends you were keeping fed in the rebellion.”

Claude nodded pensively. “Friends like Sylvain.” Byleth raised an eyebrow. “Along with a few other old classmates. Such as Felix, Ingrid. . . And Dimitri.”

Byleth froze, her hands clenched into fists. Claude stopped walking as well. “I was under the impression he was dead?”

“It’s a close kept secret,” Claude whispered. “I doubt anyone from our old house even knows. Except Sylvain, of course.”

“That’s another thing. Are you telling me we might have to fight Sylvain right now?” Byleth hissed.

“Not ‘_fight_’ him,” Claude emphasized. “But face him? Maybe. That’s even assuming these are the Kingdom rebels and that Sylvain is among them. If that’s the case, I’m hoping we can talk them into moving somewhere else without ever having to draw our weapons.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Though I don’t understand why they would resort to acting like common thieves. Their mission has always just been to keep Edelgard out of Faergus to the best of their ability.”

Byleth crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me any of this.”

Claude sighed. “It was at Sylvain’s request. He felt like it was Faergus’s secret. Though vein if he hadn’t asked it of me, I might have made the decision myself, because. . . Well, Marianne doesn’t know that Dimitri is still alive. And I’m trying to keep it that way.”

Byleth said nothing.

“Did you know they were engaged?”

“I knew they were. . . Interested in one another,” Byleth replied. “I never knew it was that serious.”

She started walking again, and Claude put a hand on Byleth’s shoulder to stop her. He stared at her intensely. “Dimitri is not the same man you knew at the academy,” he said. “He has not been well since discovering Edelgard’s betrayal. Sylvain and the others follow him out of loyalty, and like them, I pray that he one day recovers.” Byleth’s eyebrows knit together. “But if Marianne knew what he had become, I think it would break her heart.” Claude lowered his hand. “More than his actions already broke her.”

Byleth nodded, though she still said nothing. The pair walked on together in silence. Too much silence, for Claude’s liking. He reached out and squeezed her hand. After a beat, Byleth squeezed it back. “I won’t tell.”

“Thank you.”

They kept walking, following a trail of footprints they found deeper into the forest. “Something is wrong,” Byleth whispered some time later.

“How so?”

Byleth pointed at the trodden mud. “See how sharp the prints are here? They all halted suddenly. Then scattered. See?”

Claude looked at her sharply. “How long ago?”

Byleth’s eyes widened, fixated on the prints. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Ten minutes ago, if that.”

They drew their weapons. Not a moment later, ten or so people surrounded them. Byleth pushed her back up against Claude’s. “Are you rebels from the Kingdom?” Claude heard her ask.

“We are not rebels,” one of the men in front of Claude hissed. “We are loyal men and women fighting to take back the land that bitch of an emperor stole from us!” He stepped closer, pressing the edge of his sword against Claude’s chest. “This has nothing to do with you Alliance people.”

“It does when you are moving troops across our lands,” Claude retorted. “And robbing our people.”

“We don’t rob. We merely. . . Ask the kind passerby in the area to contribute to the cause.”

“I don’t care how you word it to make your sorry ass feel better,” Claude hissed. The man pressed his sword a little further, but Claude expected that. He probably needed to mind his own tongue. “We aren’t here to fight,” he said a little more calmly. “I want to talk to Sylvain Gautier, is he here?”

“Claude. . .” Byleth hissed warningly.

The man frowned. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” he jeered. “There’s a lot of men around here. I don’t bother to learn everyone’s names.”

“Tall guy, red hair, probably fucked half the women in your rebellion, or at the very least tried to.” Someone behind Claude snorted, and the man with the sword against his chest eased his grip. “I figured you would know him.”

“He’s not around,” the man growled. The look in his eyes was distrusting. “But even if he was, what makes you think I would just take you to him?”

“I’m a friend,” Claude said. He leaned into the tip of the sword, mouth set firm. “And I would like to know where he is.”

“Claude!” Byleth whispered again.

The man stepped back, put away his sword.

And punched Claude in the stomach.

“No!” Claude heard Byleth shriek. The sounds of her struggling broke through the pain as the man kicked him repeatedly in the ribs. Claude tried to stand, and got kicked in the face as punishment.

“Who are you working for?!” the man shouted. Another kick.

“Claude!”

The man kicked Claude harder. “Are you Empire spies?”

“Don’t you fucking touch him!”

The man gave one more swift kick to the side of Claude’s head, then he stopped. Claude’s vision was blurry, and when he coughed, his ribs ached. He grunted from the pain. “Or what, darling?” The man asked sardonically. Claude tried to focus as the man leered down at Byleth, who was being restrained by two of the other rebels. “Maybe you’re a better talker than the smart-ass?”

Byleth threw her head forward. Claude heard the crack of the man’s nose breaking before he stumbled backwards. He muttered a slew of curse words, reaching for his sword—

“What’s going on here?” a voice called.

It must have been someone important, as the rebels all stood at attention, save for the two restraining a still-struggling Byleth.

And the one that put his foot on Claude’s back when he tried to stand.

Fucking wonderful. . .

The man who had attacked Claude turned around. At least Claude would get the satisfaction of seeing his bloodied, dumbfounded face. “We caught these two trailing us. No doubt they’re spies for the Empire, trying to track our movements—they were trying to get us to lead them to Sylvain! Claimed to be old friends of his.” Claude’s fists clenched when he heard the man laugh. “No doubt the bastard’s reputation spread, and they hoped throwing around his name would lower our guard.”

Someone stepped between Claude and the man. Given his current position, all he could make out was large feet and the thickest calves he had ever seen. The man was big, that was for sure. . . “You have already been warned against traveling in large groups and confronting the locals.”

There was a hiss in response.

The large man spoke again, his tone a hair softer. “Did they hurt you, Professor?”

Professor?

“No, I’m fine,” Byleth muttered. “Claude might be a little worse for wear, though.”

“My sincerest apologies for what has transpired here.”

Claude’s head throbbed when he tried to recall the voice. Who the hell was this guy?

“Release them,” the voice said. It was incredibly deep. That was all Claude knew for certain. “You have just assaulted one of the rebellion’s supporters in the Alliance. This offense will have to be addressed with His Majesty and his generals to determine what is to be done with all of you.”

The foot on Claude’s back lifted, allowing him to stand. Still, he wavered. His head throbbed ceaselessly, and he was fairly certain at least one of his ribs was cracked. A large, muscular hand extended toward him, and Claude took it gratefully in order to stable himself. He looked up in hopes that seeing the man’s face would jog his memory better than his voice. Claude met the man’s eyes and chuckled, sending another wave of pain through him. “Thank you, Dedue. It’s been a while.”

Dedue’s eyes narrowed slightly. He looked angry, but maybe it was just the number of scars on his face since the last time Claude had seen him. “Our camp is nearby. Mercedes can tend to your wounds.” He marched onward, and the other rebels followed. Some looking chastened, others looking like they could barely contain their anger. Claude’s eyes drifted to Byleth as she walked over to him, looping his arm around her shoulders to take some of his weight.

“I’ll be fine,” Claude murmured. “Though for the record, that would have been a nice time for a redo.”

“They had ahold of my hands,” Byleth replied. “And I’m not exactly sure we could have fared much better. That guy seemed rather determined to punch you no matter what you said.”

Claude huffed.

“Must have been your charming demeanor.”

Claude tried to laugh, then coughed instead. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Byleth teased. She reached her hand up to lightly touch his arm. Claude smiled down at her, and faltered when he saw the red line trickling down her face.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine.”

From up ahead, Dedue halted, waving the others ahead while he waited for the pair to catch up. “It is good to see you alive,” he said to Byleth. “We heard word of your return from Sylvain, but His Highness. . . We were hesitant to believe it. It seemed too much like a miracle.”

“I still find it hard to believe myself sometimes,” Byleth admitted. Dedue nodded in reply.

“Is Sylvain here?” Claude wondered.

Dedue shook his head. “No. He went up ahead to scout. Since we’ve been crossing the border, we are trying to move less conspicuously in the Alliance. At least until we find the best route into the Empire. It’s difficult to move an entire army without anyone noticing, though.”

So, there were quite a bit more than one or two dozen rebels in that case. “That’s what I was hoping to talk to Sylvain about,” Claude said. He took in a sharp breath as his side throbbed. Hopefully their camp—and Mercedes—were not too far off. “The local village has been picking up on your movements, and it sounded like there’s been some theft and violence on the rise since you started moving into our territory. Small villages tend to report that sort of stuff to their liege lords. In this case, that happens to be me. I know you do not intend on invading the Alliance, but were another noble to spot you on their territory? Especially if they realize there’s an army’s worth of you? That’s an act of war.”

“I know,” Dedue muttered. “And I’m sorry about the crimes that have been committed. Some of these people have better hearts than others. We try to keep them under control, but. . .”

“It’s hard with more people,” Claude finished for him. “I understand that.”

“Regardless, I will see to it that the group that assaulted you today is properly disciplined.”

Byleth readjusted Claude’s arm over her shoulder. “We told the villagers we would get rid of the rebels causing problems around here. Will you be able to mobilize the resistance army by tomorrow, if we asked it of you?”

Dedue seemed to ponder the question. In the distance, Claude could hear the sound of chatter and metal clanging growing nearer. They were sure to reach the camp soon. Claude was eager to hurry, but he was afraid any rushed movement would only hurt him further. “We could head deeper into the mountains, where there are fewer villages to bother. I will give word to the scouts in the morning, assuming His Majesty agrees to it first. Is that satisfactory?”

“It is,” Claude said, doing his best to smile at the taller man. He doubted Dimitri would be agreeing to anything, but perhaps he was becoming more reasonable as time passed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dedue replied quietly. Claude thought his voice sounded tighter than usual.

At last, they reached the encampment. And there were very, very definitely more than a dozen rebels present. If Claude had to guess, he would say the numbers were much closer to a thousand. He was suddenly impressed that there had not been more of them spotted. Then again, the rebellion was used to being in hiding. They were bound to be good at it after five years. Dedue led them to a tall white tent and opened the flap for them to walk in. It was a medical tent, Claude could tell by the layout and the number of beds, but the only person in there was a woman in a simple brown dress with short blonde hair. “Mercedes,” Dedue said.

The woman looked up suddenly, and her eyes widened with shock. “Claude!” she gasped. “Professor?!”

“You’ve cut your hair since I last saw you,” Claude said, trying to sound light-hearted.

Mercedes muttered something in a frantic manner under her breath. She ushered Claude onto one of the beds, her hands glowing with a pale light. “What happened?” she asked. Then looking up at Byleth. “That question applies to both of you, I suppose.” When she touched her hands to Claude’s side, he gasped at the immediate relief he felt, taking in a long breath.

“One of the ribs might be cracked,” he groaned. “I can still feel the—“

“I’ll take a look at it,” Mercedes assured him. She gingerly touched his cheek with illuminated fingers, relieving the strain there with a soft smile on her face, then turned to a nearby table to grab supplies. “And I’ll want to take a look at your head, too, Professor. Claude, please lift your shirt for me. And feel free to talk while I work.”

“We were ambushed by some of your men. Presumably they thought we were Empire spies,” Byleth explained. Mercedes frowned as she prodded Claude’s torso. “The guy who attacked Claude may be in here shortly. I broke his nose.”

Mercedes chuckled. “I know I shouldn’t laugh at that. But I’ll admit, it’s good to see time has not made you passive.”

Byleth smiled in reply. “I don’t think anyone has ever mistaken me for being passive.”

Claude snickered, and his rib hurt again.

“Ah, that’s the one,” Mercedes murmured. She chanted low, letting her hand glow with magic once more. “I can ease the pain, but you’ll still need to be bandaged as a precaution.”

“Do what you gotta do,” Claude hissed. Mercedes nodded, then touched Claude’s ribs.Again, he gasped, then felt relief. Instinctively, Byleth touched his shoulder. Mercedes raised her eyebrow in reply.

“Which should I ask first? Where our dear professor has been for the last five years, or how long you two have been together?” She giggled when Byleth and Claude exchanged a nervous look. Her hands moved to wrap a bandage around Claude’s torso. “I knew Claude had a crush on you long before he did. I believe I even tried to tell him, but he was still in denial. Weren’t you?”

Claude chuckled nervously. “I remember something of the sort.” Gods, how long ago that felt. When had he talked about Byleth with Mercedes? It was clearly before the Battle of Eagle and Lion. And. . . Before Petra. Was it while Claude was dealing with the assassination attempt? Claude thought it may have been. But five years did little for his memory.

“I was never sure whether you would admit your feelings though, Professor. Which I understand. Younger men don’t always want to be with a woman who is older than them. A silly notion, really. Was the wedding held at Garreg Mach? Or did you have a more private affair?” When Claude and Byleth exchanged another confused look, Mercedes gestured to the ring on Byleth’s finger.

“Oh!” Byleth exclaimed as Claude hastily added, “No, we’re not married, just sort of in disguise at the moment. As a manner of convenience. This is. . .” Claude looked up at Byleth and his heart skipped a beat. “Far more new than that. A manner of days.”

“If that,” Byleth chuckled nervously.

Mercedes hummed happily in reply. “It is important to seek comforts in war, where you can. Taking a lover can do wonders for easing anxiety. Isn’t that right, Dedue?”

Dedue had been so quiet, Claude nearly forgot he was still in the tent. He blushed a rather dark shade of red at Mercedes’ question, then cleared his throat. “I must see to the rest of our troops,” he muttered, then he ducked out of the tent.

Mercedes looked particularly pleased with herself as she watched him leave. “He’s in love with me, but he’s a little shy about admitting it. Sometimes I feel bad, but I do so love to tease him, in and out of the bedroom.” She paused, brow furrowed. “Or would it be more accurate to say the tent? Anyway, where did I put that—Claude can you hold this in place for me?” Claude did as he was told. Mercedes continued without missing a beat. “I must admit I am relieved to see you alive, Professor. You were always so kind to the students, even if they weren’t in your class. I still think of how you handled the situation with Ashe when his father died. Sweet boy. I wonder where he is now.”

When Byleth snuck a look at Claude, he nodded his head.

“With our army,” Byleth replied. “We sort of. . . Recruited him in the middle of a battle.”

Mercedes’ eyes widened with shock, then she giggled. “You truly are a wonder.” With her work on Claude completed, she patted his cheek like she was an older sister. “I did what I could to mend the rib, but it might still be bruised. Depending on how you feel, you might not need to keep that bandage on all night.” Then, she went to work on Byleth’s forehead. “I would still like to know where you have been these last five years?”

Byleth’s answer was brief. She told of the years-long slumber, the reunion at Garreg Mach, who they had reunited with and who they had failed to see, and of their decision to join the fight against Edelgard and the Adrestian Empire. Claude noted that she was careful never to reveal that they kept their home base at the old monastery, nor did she ever describe troop movements, or strategies. It was all about the old students and knights. Claude figured, as much as he hated to admit it, that as probably the wisest option. They were technically in another nation’s army encampment, even if it was led more or less by old friends.

“Goodness,” Mercedes gasped at the end. “You two have certainly been busy these last few months.”

“We just want things to go back to normal,” Claude told her. “There has been too much useless bloodshed as of late.”

“I know that all too well,” Mercedes murmured. She took a step back to give Byleth one final look up and down, and when she was satisfied there were no more injuries, she moved forward again to embrace her. “Under different circumstances, I would like our armies to fight together,” she said when she pulled away. “We are working towards the same cause, after all.”

Claude frowned at her tone. “I take it the prince’s temperament has not changed?” He guessed.

Grief filled Mercedes’ eyes. “I have to keep him on a heavy draft so he can sleep. If he is not sleeping he is. . .”

_Violent_, Claude mentally finished.

“Restless?” he said out loud.

Mercedes nodded slowly. “Some days are better than others. . .” When she looked up again, she tried to smile. “Will you two stay a while? I’m sure dinner is already being prepared.” She spoke as if they were visiting her home on the countryside rather than in the middle of a rebel camp. It was almost pleasant, for the briefest of moments, to believe that was true.

“No, I’m afraid we must head back to the village we came from,” Byleth replied, though she genuinely looked like she regretted the answer. “Otherwise, the people there might think we were killed.”

“Ah, we can’t have that. . .” Mercedes sighed. She nodded to herself as she wiped off her hands. “Let me walk you to the edge of camp, at least.”

“Of course,” Byleth said. The three of them ducked under the tent opening and slowly walked together. Claude held back, allowing the two women to talk with one another. He enjoyed the way their conversation was making Byleth’s eyes light up.

They passed by the man who had assaulted Claude, sitting on the ground with a cold compress to his head, as a middle-aged man with dark hair berated him and the others that had been with him earlier that afternoon. His nose looked certainly broken, and claude doubted he would be able to get it healed until the man standing over him had decided he was sufficiently punished. Claude chuckled at the sight of him, wondering if his face throbbed from the impact with Byleth’s forehead. The man must have heard him, for he looked up suddenly. Claude winked at him.

Because sometimes the best revenge was to be a cocky little shit.

When they reached the edge of their camp, Mercedes embraced Byleth one last time, like a long-lost family member. “Hopefully the next time we see each other will be under better circumstances.” She then turned to Claude and embraced him, as well, though far more gently due to the state of his ribs. “This is the happiest I’ve seen you in years,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. When she pulled back, she was smiling ear to ear. 

Claude laughed nervously in reply.“Be safe out there,” he said. “If you’re truly marching toward the Empire, it will only get uglier from here for a while.”

Mercedes’ smile turned sad. “I know.”

“Claude, we have to go,” Byleth reminded him. “The wind is picking up, and the sun is setting. I don’t want to get lost in the woods.”

Claude turned back to Mercedes, who smiled and waved them on. “Go on, now. Don’t worry about little old me. There’s always next time” She turned and walked back the way she came, leaving Claude and Byleth no choice but to find their way back to the village.

The first few minutes were silent, save for the occasional grunt that Claude was unable to hold back. His ribs no longer hurt, but the one that had cracked felt sore. Luckily, the path they walked soon became more level, easier to walk on. Byleth stepped in stride with him, lacing her fingers gingerly with his. As if unsure if the action was acceptable.

“I don’t remember you being so close with Mercie,” Claude said. Byleth huffed in reply.

“She was one of the few students who was. . . Undaunted by the rumors about you and I,” she explained. Claude squeezed her hand comfortingly. Byleth chuckled, but it was with little humor. “I believe her exact words to me were ‘it’s silly teenage nonsense and I’m much too old for that.’ I don’t think it would have even fazed her if it was true.” She side-eyed Claude. “Based on what she said in the medical tent, there’s a chance she probably though it was.”

Claude chuckled. “For as soft as she appears at first glance, the woman can be rather. . .”

“Direct?”

“And just a little inappropriate.”

Byleth hummed in reply, her eyes crinkling.

The winds continued to pick up as the pair walked. “I thought we were finally beginning to see the start of spring,” Byleth grumbled. “It was so warm this afternoon.”

“Indeed,” Claude murmured. He looked up at the dwindling sun. “Hopefully the good people in the village kept their word about that hot meal.”

Byleth shivered. “We may have to ask for rooms for the night, as well.”

“Rooms?” Claude repeated, eyebrow raised. Byleth caught the sly gleam in his eye. Seeing that she did not see the joke, Claude lifted her left hand, still bearing the ring he slipped to her. “Are you in a fight with your husband?”

An understanding smile crept on Byleth’s lips as she playfully swatted him away. “I’m always fighting with my husband.” She sighed dramatically. “But it would be rude to the good people if we put them out in such a way. I suppose I can share a night in your bed.”

Claude kissed her cheek. “You are so good to me, darling.”

Byleth hummed again, her eyes drifting down to their interlaced fingers. “Well, at least for the night.” Claude tilted his head. “After tonight, we just go back to Claude and Byleth again.”

“Right,” Claude murmured, catching her meaning. A Claude and Byleth who weren’t together. Who hadn’t spent a romantic afternoon together bathing in the sun and exchanging loving looks and kisses. Who hadn’t jumped into that lake. Who hadn’t intended on having sex on the bank had they not been—

Claude’s face grew warm. He had managed to keep the thought out of his mind for most of the day, focusing instead on the task in front of them. But. . . Gods, they really _had_ been about to have sex out in that field. No sense of hesitation or. . . Fuck. Claude hadn’t even considered the lack of preparation on his end. It had been ages since he kept a stock of herbs that would prevent pregnancy. Or needed to, even. Would that upset Byleth, that he had been so irresponsible? Would she regret what they had been about to do?

Did she regret it regardless?

He snuck a glance at her, unsure if the fact that she was too fixated on the road in front of them to notice made him relieved or more nervous. So, he looked forward again. Well. . . Regardless, he figured they would have to talk about what had happened. Or. . . Not happened. Especially if they were intending to get a room for the night. Gods, the last thing he wanted was to make things uncomfortable. But he felt like he had little other choice. But the conversation would have to wait, as the village was finally coming into view.

Were it not for the lanterns in the distance, Claude was all but certain that he would have missed the village entirely. It was hardly more than ten or fifteen buildings wide, and there was little noise to be heard. Until someone noticed their return, at least. Then, it was like every member of the small community came out of their homes. Claude wondered if, this deep in the mountains, they did not see much excitement. The old man named Mason led the way to greet them, patting Claude and Byleth on their shoulders. “We were afraid ye weren’t gonna make it back ‘til the morn. We already stabled the beast an’ packed yer things away in a room at my niece’s tavern.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you,” Byleth insisted. Claude hoped that tavern was where the people were leading them now. “Especially when we only asked for a meal.” A meal sounded wonderful.

“Well, we ain’t the sorta folks to turn a nice young couple such as yerselves out into the cold night. Especially with a storm comin’. Ye’d likely lose yer way. . . Son, were ye limping this afternoon?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Claude admitted. “I took a rather good beating fighting off some of the rebels today.”

Mason furrowed his already-wrinkled brow. “Awfully kind of ye, to take care of that fer us.” He turned to Byleth. “Ye weren’t hurt at all, were ye, Miss?”

“I have a scrape on my head, but nothing to worry about. It’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“It’s apparent who the stronger warrior is of the pair of ye,” Mason replied, then he gave a wheezing laugh. “So ye have the beauty an’ the brawn.” Claude was vaguely curious as to whether or not Old Mason ever managed to find a Mrs. Mason.

By the grace of the gods, they made it to the tavern just before the rain started sprinkling against its walls. It was an old, sturdy wooden building that looked to have spare rooms on the second floor, based on the structure. The lower floor was large and open, with a row of four tables on one end and a bar on the other. One of the village men took Claude and Byleth’s weapons and walked out a side door, presumably to the stables, to store them. Then a few more people ushered them to a table, and bowls of hot soup were pressed into their hands, and mugs of ale slammed onto the table in front of them. As the pair began to eat, they were bombarded with excited questions, mostly by the younger men and women.

“How were the two of you able to fight off an entire army of rebels all on your own?”

“It was hardly an entire army,” Claude laughed. He didn’t want to let onto exactly how many soldiers were camping not too far away. . . But he needed a story to tell. “Maybe twenty men or so.” He enjoyed the looks of awe as he casually drank from his cup. When he lowered it again, he caught Byleth’s eye. “My love, you are the superior warrior, why don’t you tell them about your strategy?”

Byleth gave him a look that said she certainly did not want to tell them a fake story on how they defeated a group of twenty rebels, but she seemed to catch Claude’s meaning. She, unlike Claude, had been in situations like the one he depicted before. And therefore likely had a more logical explanation on how two people could defeat ten times their numbers.

That, and Claude still owed her for tricking him into jumping into the lake.

“The trick is to never let them know how many of you are out there. Attack sparingly, to lure them out in small numbers, making sure to move location frequently so it seems like more people are against them than in reality.”

There was a collective gaze in response. And once Byleth had answered one question, many more flowed out of the townspeople. Claude sat silently, emptying the contents of his mug and bowl as he watched her talk. Funny, he thought to himself, how comfortable it felt to just sit nearby her. But it was wonderful. Byleth became more animated as she spoke, telling stories to the townspeople the way she used to tell them to Claude in her garden, back when he was so young and full of curiosity. Claude wondered if she missed those days, missed when there were people around to ask her to tell more stories. If there would ever be times like this again in her future.

“With skills like yers, ma’am, it’s a wonder a mercenary like ye would go unnoticed, even round these parts.”

“I haven’t been an active mercenary in years,” Byleth explained, her voice light. “And when I was, I travelled with my father’s mercenary group. His name is more well-known than mine.”

“Yer father was a mercenary?”

“Yeah. Jeralt Eisner.”

“The Blade Breaker,” another voice breathed.

”Yes. Have you heard of him?”

Claude put a careful hand on Byleth’s leg as a murmur rippled through the room. When he looked up, all pairs of eyes were fixated on Byleth, wheels turning behind each set of irises.

“Th-that would make ye. . .” one woman stammered.

Byleth pat Claude’s hand on her leg. “Yes,” she said, behaving a little sheepish. “I am the Ashen Demon.”

Claude didn’t think that was the conclusion they had drawn about her.

“Ye are the goddess reborn,” another breathed. A woman towards the front of the group around them fell to her knees. “An’ we were too big of fools to notice—“

“Stop,” Byleth insisted, raising her hands to stop her and the others as they started kneeling. “Please, don’t kneel.”

“But surely, in the presence of the goddess—“

”How do you intend on defeating the Emperor?”

”Why are you here?”

A set of eyes drifted to Claude. “I never heard of the goddess having a husband.”

“But I’m not the—“

Claude tried to catch Byleth’s hand, but he missed it, as her hands were already raising in

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“With skills like yers, ma’am, it’s a wonder a mercenary like ye would go unnoticed, even round these parts.”

“I haven’t been an active mercenary in years,” Byleth explained, her voice tight. She took a long drink from her ale as Claude watched her skeptically. “And I only take the odd job here and there to help small towns like this.” She gestured around her. “Otherwise, I prefer to be anonymous.”

A vague image pricked at the back Claude’s mind, of faces torn between awe and fear and legs bending in reverence. He had an idea of what it meant, and of what Byleth meant by that last sentence.

He could keep her anonymous.

“And that’s why she married me,” Claude said, an easy smile on his face. Byleth looked at him with a knitted brow. Claude winked at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Nothing is more anonymous than being another merchant on the banks of Derdriu.”

“Is that what you do, sir?”

Claude nodded. “My family has been living in Derdriu, passing on our work from parent to child for generations.”

“That sounds impressive.”

“It’s mostly paperwork,” Claude sighed.

“Then how did the two of you meet?” A young-looking woman asked with wide eyes. The question nearly caused Byleth to sputter. The young woman batted her eyelashes and leaned forward, eagerly expecting an answer. “Are there many mercenaries in the city?”

“No, we met outside of the city. She saved my life five years ago,” he answered, and he had to do nothing to play up the adoration on his face. Byleth flushed ever so slightly under his gaze. “We were friends for a long time, and we only recently realized our affections for each other ran deeper. After that, we sort of got married in a rush. I more or less slipped my ring on her finger when she didn’t expect it, and I’ve been calling her my wife ever since.”

Byleth gave him a look like she wanted to roll her eyes.

The young woman—several of them, actually—sighed longingly at the pair of them. “Is it not usually the man who saves the woman?” one of them wondered.

“Usually,” Claude admitted, his eyes not leaving Byleth’s. “But this is hardly a woman that needs saving.” He kissed her for good measure.

Someone else in the crowd of people surrounding them cleared his throat. “Miss Eisner,” he said. “When do you leave tomorrow? If possible—I mean, I would be honored if you would give me a lesson with the blade. Someone needs to defend this village after you leave, and well—if you could tell us more about when you were—“

“Sorry to interrupt,” Claude interjected. “But you’ll have to excuse me, I’m rather tired. Can someone lead me to our room? Darling, will you stay down here or go up with me?” He squeezed Byleth’s hand under the table.

“I’ll go with you,” Byleth replied smoothly, managing to sound more tired than she had moments before. Together, they rose from the table, the crowd around them parting as they did so. From behind the bar counter, a single middle-aged woman approached them.

“Alright, shoo! Te bed with the rest of ye. We need te let our guests sleep after all the help they gave us.” She had a similar lilt in her tone to Mason’s, Claude noticed.

“Thank you,” Claude murmured as the crowd dissipated and began filing out of the single door on the far end of the room. “The people here are incredibly kind, but I didn’t want to lose out on any sleep tonight.”

The woman nodded and grabbed a set of keys hanging from the wall, a slight smile on her face. “Oh course. It’s least that can be done fer such kind folks like you and the missus, helpin’ us with the rebel invaders and all.”

“Believe me, we did nothing,” Claude insisted with a smile.

“Yer just being modest.”

_Hardly_, Claude thought. He held onto Byleth’s hand as they walked up the stairs behind the innkeeper.

“It’s this first door on the left,” the woman said, moving to unlock the door for them before handing Byleth the key. “There’s s’posed to be a fire going already for ye. And I had my sons bring up water enough for ye both if ye want to bathe. We brought up all of yer saddle bags too.”

“You’re very kind, thank you,” Claude said earnestly. He knew in Derdriu, such services often came with the expectation of a tip of some sort. But the tavern keeper seemed like the kind of woman who would be insulted if he tried to press money into her hands. It was probably for the best, Claude reasoned, because he had no money for her anyway.

The woman gave a small, simple curtsy then hurried back down the stairs, leaving Claude and Byleth to their own devices. He closed the door behind them after they were safely inside.

“Do you remember?” Byleth asked, barely above a whisper. Her fingers flexed against the iron key.

Claude nodded. “I remember enough. Anonymous seemed like the best way to go.”

Byleth nodded slowly. “I never realized people knew my name,” she whispered. “Outside of high courts and war meetings, I always assumed I could continue being just Byleth.”

Claude shrugged. “Nobles have servants. And servants gossip. Word is bound to get even to the farthest reaches of the continent, given enough time.”

“Makes sense,” she said with a sigh. She set the key down on a small wooden stand by the door. “I just wish I could continue being ‘Byleth’.”

“You’re Byleth to me,” Claude whispered.

Byleth chuckled. She looked him up and don with a small smile on her face. “Shame we didn’t bring spare clothes. You’re covered in mud.”

“Yeah,” Claude sighed. “Small side effect of having the shit beaten out of me earlier today.”

“How are you feeling, by the way?”

Claude touched the tender rib, then winced. “Not great, but not horrible.

“Want me to heal you?” Byleth asked. ‘Then we can see about getting you and your clothes washed.”

Claude chuckled. “Yes. Please.”

Byleth helped Claude pull the shirt over his head, then worked to undo the bandages around his torso. Her hands glowed with the utterance of a few words, and her hands on Claude’s skin were ice, making him shiver. “Sorry, I’m not as good as Mercie.”

“You’re fine,” Claude chuckled, taking deep breaths and twisting his torso from side to side. No pain. That was a good sign. “Thank you.”

Byleth smiled sadly and pat his cheek. That too, was a little tender, but nothing worth fretting over. “Any time,” she whispered. She cleared her throat then turned around. “Want to take a bath first? Since you’re more covered in filth.”

“Sure thing,” Claude said. He brushed passed her, stopped, then pressed a kiss to her temple. “Everything okay?” he asked. “Aside from the lack of anonymity?”

Byleth nodded. “Just need time to process. That’s all.”

Claude nodded back, then walked around the side of the screen where he assumed the tub hid. Once behind the screen, Claude unlaced his pants, pulling them down with his underclothes. Several buckets of water lined the wall beside the wooden tub. Claude assumed they had been hot when brought up, but when he tested them, the water inside each was lukewarm at best. Claude looked to the fire. A hook welded to the inside of the small chimney hung just over the flames, no doubt to hold pots and the like. The buckets appeared well-tempered, meaning they could probably withstand the heat. He hardly had the patience to wait for a hot bath himself, but he figured Byleth would appreciate one. So he hefted one of the buckets on the hook to heat the water inside. Then, he took a bar of soap that was resting by the tub and another bucket and dunked his clothes in, scrubbing at the fabric until the water was murky with suds and mud. He used another bucket for rinsing the clothes before wringing them out and setting them by the fire to dry.

“Want water to clean your clothes?” Claude called to Byleth.

“Sure,” she said quickly.

Claude moved two new buckets of water just around the other side of the screen with the bar of soap. As he dumped water into the tub to bathe in, he heard Byleth’s footsteps approach, pause as she lifted the buckets, then walk away again. The thought—stupid as it was—crossed his mind that all she would have had to do was glance over the side, and she would have seen him. All of him. As he wanted to be seen by her.

After that, Claude bathed quickly, willing himself to ignore the fact that Byleth was somewhere on the other side of the screen, likely undressing as he had to clean her clothing. That she could walk around the screen at any moment, as naked as she had been at the lake. That it would be _so_ easy to see her like that again.

It hardly made for a relaxing experience. Claude was almost relieved when he was done scrubbing himself clean, able to step out of the tub and wrap a towel around his waist.“I’m almost done,” he called absently. Once the towel was secure, he checked his clothes to see if they were dry yet. While they were certainly warmer, they hardly felt less damp, in Claude’s opinion.

“There’s another fireplace by the bed,” Byleth said, her voice so near that is caused Claude to jump. Byleth’s face flushed, but she chuckled to herself. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t hear you walk over,” Claude said.

“You’re probably tired. Dulls the senses.”

“Probably,” Claude agreed.

Byleth’s eyes drifted downward then quickly back up. “Let’s get you to bed, then. Move your clothes to the other fireplace. It’s. . . Bigger. My clothes are already dry.” She weakly gestured to herself.

“So they are,” Claude said. He smiled weakly. “The umm, the bucket over the fire is hot water for you.” He nearly said it was a little ridiculous of her to get dressed only to undress again the moment he was gone, but he held his tongue, afraid of sounding like he was pouting. Instead, he took his clothes wordlessly and stepped around Byleth, heading for the other fireplace so he could lay his clothes out to dry.

Once that was accomplished, he dropped onto the wooden bed.He was, in all truth, exhausted. But sleep did not take him nor did he want it to. For one thing, the towel around his waist would make for a poor covering given how much Claude tossed and turned in his sleep. And for another. . . Claude still wanted to talk to Byleth. Clear the air about earlier that day. Get an idea on whether Byleth felt like he was rushing her or not. And he knew if he fell asleep before having that conversation, he would be that much less likely to have it in the morning.

It did not help, however, that Byleth took an eternity to bathe. So, Claude stood up again, securing the towel around his waist. He decided the best course of action to keep his nerves in place was to keep busy, distract his mind from the speculation on how Byleth would respond to their conversation. He checked on his clothes, reorganized their luggage, straightened the covers on the bed, checked the windows to see how bad it was raining outside, and—gods, there really wasn’t much to do in an inn room when he was trying to not think about something. Particularly, when that _something_ involved Byleth. 

“You know, this place is really charming,” Byleth’s voice said. Claude looked in her direction, watching her pat her hair dry with a towel as she looked around the modest room. “It’s very homey. If I had a tiny cabin in the woods somewhere I would want it to look like this.” She chuckled to herself. How could she be so beautiful, so calm, in front of Claude’s very eyes while he was in the middle of an internal crisis? “Though I suppose that’s just a dream at this point, isn’t it? I can’t imagine slipping away into the night to build myself a cabin in the woods will be as easy once this war is over as it was before the war started?”

Claude forced a smirk. “No, it won’t be quite as easy.”

Byleth sighed dramatically, twisting her still-damp hair into a long loose coil then draping it over her shoulder. “Your clothes aren’t dry yet?”

“Nearly,” Claude said. “But not quite wearable.”

Byleth hummed in reply. “Braid my hair while we wait?”

“Sure,” Claude replied with a slight laugh. Byleth walked over slowly, lazily, and Claude struggled to not watch the gentle sway of her hips. She stood right in front of him, then turned around, pushing her hair behind her back and shaking it loose of the coil. Claude split the hair into three strands at the base of her scalp. He was lucky his hands could work with only the most minimal amount of mental effort on his part, because he was entirely distracted by the woman standing just in front of him. As Claude worked, his eyes traced the curve where her neck met her muscular shoulder. There was a tan line right on that curve, that Claude assumed was from wearing the same armor day in and day out.

“Something’s on your mind,” Byleth said.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what?”

“Eventually,” Claude murmured. He kissed Byleth’s tan line, and she shivered. “I’m working up to it.”

“So, not a fun conversation?” She handed Claude a small leather chord, and he fastened off her braid at the end. Then, he placed his hands on her shoulders and rested his forehead on the back of her head.

“Do you. . . regret what happened at the lake today?”

Byleth sank into his touch. “Do you?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Claude whispered. “I could never regret being with you. Just that I wasn’t. . . careful.”

“Are you talking about the fact that we were spotted?”

“Among other things.”

”Like?” 

Claude hummed. “I’m thinking of a little book that you gave me long ago.”

Byleth laughed. “Oh, that,” she said. “I have that covered. I always have that covered.” She pat his hand on her shoulder. “Some herbs serve multiple purposes.”

”I’ll try to remember that,” Claude murmured. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “But I still am the one who asked you to have me.”

Byleth shrugged. “I was the instigator, though. I’m the one who got you to strip.”

Claude chuckled. “Yeah, that’s true,” he admitted. He shifted to kiss her neck again.

”If only we hadn’t been interrupted.”

”Would have made for a different kind of memorable day.”

Byleth tilted her head ever so slightly to look at him. “Why can’t things ever be simple for us?”

“We aren’t very simple people.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Byleth huffed. She shifted under Claude’s touch, turning to face him. “But I wish our complexities didn’t get in the way of what we want from one another.”

”They don’t have to get in the way now.”

Byleth pulled on Claude’s hips, drawing him closer. Her nose brushed against his, then she hesitated. “Your clothes are probably dry by now,” she whispered. “We should get some sleep.”

Claude sighed, but nodded without protest. He pulled himself away from her grasp to retrieve his clothes while Byleth crawled onto the far side of the bed, burrowing herself in the covers. When Claude was dressed, he laid down on the bed beside her. Byleth did not face him, but Claude could tell she had not fallen asleep. He touched her shoulder, gently prodding her to face him. “You’re hogging the blankets,” he teased lightly.

Byleth smiled. “I’m cold.”

“Then let me warm you.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows, but she lifted the covers, allowing Claude beneath them as he pulled her closer. Her body was already warm, smelling faintly of soap from the bath she had taken. Claude sank into her arms as she sank into his, with no sound save for the rain against their window. “This is nice,” Byleth breathed, several minutes later. “No worries about servants walking in.”

Claude chuckled. “Or retainers,” he added, readjusting his arms. “No burdens of nobility here. Just a man and his wife.”

Byleth somehow managed to groan even as she laughed. “A nice little thought,” she murmured.

Claude nodded. “A simple one.”

Byleth’s eyes opened the moment the words crossed Claude’s lips. She looked into his eyes, not saying a word. And Claude dared not speak either. The air thickened in the space between them, moving slowly as Byleth shifted, pulling Claude on top of her. Making it difficult to breathe. Especially as Claude watched Byleth’s eyes widen. Grow more eager. Reflect his own desires. He moved to kiss her as she did the same.

Byleth had heard, on several occasions, passion be compared to a fire. The idea always created a picture in her mind. A picture of a forest burning, flames consuming everything in their path in a ravenous hunger, leaving nothing but charcoal in their wake. She imagined that was what passion must feel like. That was certainly how it felt for her. Given how rampant and uncontrollable her feelings were since awakening, Byleth feared that she was the forest, that she was the one to be burned and consumed should she ever give in to such an insatiable feeling as “passion.”

In Claude, she felt a fire, as well.

But it was not the fire that would consume a forest. Far from it. As his hands fumbled to remove clothing from flesh, worked to keep her close and warm as he removed the barrier between them, in Byleth’s mind she saw a hearth. Beckoning her closer with promises of safety and comfort. Tongues of flame hot against her skin murmured her praises. His heat penetrated the cold that froze her bones, willing her to move in alignment with him if only so she could take in more of the light he radiated. Melted away all of her fears and concerns. Offered her a sanctuary to forget the storm outside.

And begged a stone cold heart to beat once again.

Even if just for one night.

“You still owe me a story.”

Claude blinked slowly. He had been on the verge of falling asleep until he heard Byleth’s voice. “A what?” he asked groggily. Byleth rolled over, and the blanket that had been covering her slipped off her shoulders in a manner that Claude found horribly pleasing to the eye, even in the low-lighting of the room.

She leaned over him, and the blanket fell off completely. Claude’s eyes lingered on her bare shoulders, her breasts, her abdomen—that scar on her hip that was now in full view—before he looked back up to her. Based on the look on Byleth’s face, Claude assumed she did not mind.

“I seem to recall you telling me that you got bit by a wyvern on your leg,” she began. Her voice was thick, as if she had been on the verge of sleep as well. So why was she bringing it up then? Why not the next day? The sun was bound to rise sooner than later, and they were hardly going to get any sleep as it was.

Not that Claude minded, of course. A moment like the one they had shared was worth over a thousand sleepless nights.

“Can it wait until morning?” he asked lazily, already knowing her answer.

“No.”

Oh, well. It was worth a shot.

Byleth ran her hands along Claude’s chest, fingers lightly scratching on the hair that grew there, and his heart started beating faster. He wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. “I have already seduced you—as you put it—so I think exposing your thigh to me now is not too much to ask for.”

Claude smiled at her, projecting all the ease he could muster while trying his damned hardest to not pay attention to the way that she was readjusting herself in order to straddle him. Despite his better instincts, he rolled Byleth off of him so he could sit upright, then extended his leg. . . After placing a dozen or so kisses across Byleth’s chest. Then he extended to of his fingers and pressed them against the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, where two pairs of dimpled marks dented his skin.

Byleth leaned down, tracing the marks with her own finger. “These don’t look big enough to be from a wyvern.”

“I never said it was an adult, now did I?”

“A hatchling, then?” Byleth asked, her voice teasing.

“A little older than that,” Claude said with a laugh. “Give me some credit. I think he was around nine months old”

Byleth shrugged playfully then resumed her tracing. “How old were you when this happened? These don’t look like new scars by any means.”

Claude shrugged. “Eleven, maybe?”

Byleth shot him a look. “Why the hell were you messing around with young wyverns at that age? Aren’t they incredibly temperamental until they reach at least a year old?”

“Yes,” Claude confirmed. “This wyvern also happened to be abused as a hatchling, so that was a bonus.”

Byleth rolled her eyes. “Okay, now you have to tell me this story.” Her eyes crinkled.

Claude ran his fingertips up and down her shoulder. “It’s really not that dramatic,” he said with a chuckle. He snuck a kiss to her jaw. “We owned a wyvern aviary. I was fascinated by the place, but I was never allowed to visit, unless when I had Hadassah with me.”

“Is that a nice way of saying she would sneak you in?”

“You know me so well,” Claude chuckled. He kissed Byleth on the forehead. “Yes, she would sneak me in. She always liked wyverns, made my father give her flying lessons from a young age. They also had the tendency to be far more gentle when she was around. In another life, I think she would have been a wyvern breeder instead of a princess.”

Byleth hummed in reply.

“Anyway, she kept an eye on the wyverns bred in the area, not just the ones on our property. There was a tendency to abuse the animals, and she. . . Anyway, long story short, she found a breeder who had a hatchling with albinism. White isn’t exactly a color of good omen in Almyra, so. . . Nobody would buy him. And the breeder grew resentful. He would have killed him had Hadassah intervened.”

“I’m guessing that wasn’t a decision that people liked, based on what you’ve told me about your people.”

Claude laughed darkly. “You don’t even know the half of it. . . Bastard daughter of a white woman rescues albino wyvern?” He shook his head, ignoring the brief bitter sensation in his mouth. “But Hadassah, kind and gentle as she was, could also be very stubborn.”

“Must run in the family.”

“Be nice,” Claude laughed. This time Byleth kissed him.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Continue.”

“She brought the wyvern to our aviary, introduced it to our brood, and ensured one of the mother wyverns would adopt it. The process took weeks, and I remember being so upset, because she literally could not leave the aviary at all during that time for fear that the new hatchling would be attacked. It meant I had to entertain myself that entire time.” Claude sighed dramatically. “And when she announced shortly after that she intended on raising that wyvern to be her main riding animal, I decided that he was my rival for her attention.”

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to be the jealous type.”

Claude ignored the hint of mockery in her tone as he continued. “Fast forward a few weeks, and my sister kept spending more time with him. More than was necessary, in my humble opinion. I wanted to see what was so damned special about the animal, but she insisted he wasn’t tame enough for me to meet him yet. And me being me. . . I decided to meet Haver anyway.”

“Haver?”

“Hmm? Oh, the wyvern. That was his name.”

“Oh, okay.”

Claude chuckled to himself. “I didn’t know enough about wyverns to detect the signs that he felt threatened when I approached him. And I only wanted to pet him, so I didn’t realize that I, as a stranger, would be seen as a threat even with the best intentions. So he,” Claude tapped his scars again, “bit me as a warning to keep away.”

Byleth gave a low whistle. “Quite a warning.”

“Oh, I cried when it happened,” Claude laughed. “More because it hurt my pride than from the actual injury. I tried to tend to it myself but Hadassah caught me. I have never in my life seen her _so_ pissed! But. . . She didn’t tell mom and dad, to save me from getting in trouble. She was nice like that. Nicer than I was. Then the next day she brought me back. Introduced me to the little asshole properly, and. . . She convinced my parents that I was ready for flying lessons.”

“Why?”

Claude shrugged. “I think she knew it could have been a lot worse, and figured teaching me how to handle a wyvern was better than praying my dumb ass wouldn’t do something so reckless again.”

Byleth squeezed his torso. “Did you ever make up with Haver?”

“Eh,” Claude sighed. “I mean, I was the only one aside from my sister who he would allow to ride him, so I suppose so. But she still got better treatment from him.”

Byleth nodded, a pensive look on her face. “How much older was Hadassah than you? If you were eleven when all that happened, she must have been a teenager right?”

“Hmmm.” Claude counted it out in his head. “She was. . . Seven years older than me. So yeah, she would have been around eighteen at the time.” His voice faltered as a realization hit him like a ton of bricks to the chest. “Huh. She would be thirty now, if she. . .”

Byleth looked up at him, taking his face in her hands. Her wide eyes said more than her words could. Claude kissed her assuringly, then took her hand in his.

“This was hers, you know,” he murmured, tilting her hand to lift the ring that was still on Byleth’s finger into the light. “It is worn by whoever is next in line for the throne. My parents brought it here for me the last time I saw them.”

“When was that?”

Claude shrugged. “Five years ago.”

Byleth stared at him, analyzing his face. “I shouldn’t be wearing this,” she whispered.

“It’ll be fine,” Claude said. “I trust you to take good care of it until we leave tomorrow. And if I start wearing it again while we’re still her, it will just bring up more questions.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Teach, I’m sure.”

Byleth looked down at the ring, twisting it lightly on her finger. “If it’s in your possession now. . . Does that mean you will go back one day?”

Claude did not answer immediately. “I was supposed to go back two years ago,” he whispered.

Byleth frowned at him. “And you stayed here because of the war?”

“Mostly,” Claude admitted. He lace his fingers into Byleth’s hair, still loosely woven into a braid by some miracle. “I also was still holding out hope that a certain woman would come back into my life again.”

“Anyone I know?”

“You may have met her once or twice before in passing.”

Byleth playfully rolled her eyes, then her expression grew more serious. “Why were you supposed to go back two years ago?”

Claude frowned slightly. He kept his face on hers, tracing her profile with his thumb. “Did I tell you before about how a man cannot establish his own home until his father gives him the right to do so?”

Byleth nodded.

Claude kissed her knuckles. “That is true about Almyran culture, in general. But the rules are a little different for rulers. A prince or princess set up to inherit the throne can start an. . . Apprenticeship, of sorts, to train under their parents on how to be a good leader, when they turn twenty-one. They start taking on some of their duties, making more public appearances, so on and so forth. Then after they get seven years of experience ruling over people, they are given the right to inherit the throne. Therefore, most kings and queens are coronated shortly after their twenty-eighth birthday.”

Byleth furrowed her brow. “But why twenty-one? And why seven years?”

Claude dramatically rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Something about life existing in seven year cycles, because that’s how long it takes for the ‘body and spirit to be made anew,’ blah blah blah. I was never meant to be king, remember? I didn’t pay a lot of attention.”

Byleth narrowed her eyes and smirked. “Sounds like an old student of mine.”

“He must have been trouble.”

“Loads of trouble.” Byleth giggled as Claude kissed her. He flipped her over so he was on top of her, lips exploring the expanse of her neck and shoulders. “Does that mean you’ll leave once the war is over?”

Claude halted.

Byleth shrugged, but Claude could make out the guarded expression on her face. “It’s a logical question. You said you have a seven year apprenticeship ahead of you. Most people would leave and decide not to return in that time.”

“No,” Claude said. “Oh, gods, no. I—“ He laughed nervously, cupping Byleth’s face in his hands. “Byleth,” he whispered. “It would take a hell of a lot more than that to get rid of me. Especially now.”

“I know,” Byleth said.

“Are you sure you know that?”

Byleth sighed. She traced the edge of his beard, fingers lingering along the hidden scar on his jaw. “I know,” she repeated.

Claude was not fully convinced. But not wanting to argue with her, he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her instead, draping his arm across her stomach. His eyelids grew heavy once more, lulling him closer to sleep as he listened to the sound of Byleth’s breathing, and the rain that was finally beginning to soften outside.

“Claude?” Byleth whispered.

Claude sighed. “Yeah, Teach?”

“Will you tell me your birth name?”

Claude opened one eye to look up at her.

“Please?”

Claude sat up again, cupping her face. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“Why?” Claude asked with a drowsy smile on his face. “The prince of Almyra does not exist in Fódlan. He has no work to be done here, and he cannot accomplish any of his goals until Claude von Riegan ends this war.”

“But he is still a part of you, is he not?” Byleth reminded him. “I cannot fully know you unless I know all of you.”

Claude laughed.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I didn’t expect it to mean so much to you,” he said.

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, you _are_ allowed to just say—“

“Khalid,” Claude whispered, and his face flushed as he did so. Byleth’s lips parted ever so slightly. “My birth name is Khalid. . . With a long line of good-for-nothing titles stringing along after it, but you don’t need to—“

“Khalid,” Byleth said. Claude stammered, then blinked. “Did I say it right?”

Claude laughed breathily. “Yeah, just like that,” he whispered.

“Khalid,” Byleth repeated. She took his face in her hands. “I like the way it sounds.” She kissed his cheek. “Khalid.” His forehead. “Khalid.” His neck. “Khalid.” His lips. “Khalid.” She continued to trace kisses down his body with murmurs of his name on her lips.

Claude determined he would get no sleep that night.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking up the morning after a blissful night in each other’s arms, Claude and Byleth spend the next few days preparing—more mentally than physically—for their return to Garreg Mach.

Claude left a trail of kisses along Byleth’s side, while she idly played with his hair. For the briefest of moments, his eyes met hers, and he grinned like an idiot, still high off the pleasure from the night before. He savored the sight before him. Byleth, still unclothed, smiled down at him like the happiest woman in the world.

The morning light came in through the single small window, indicating that they would have to leave the bed soon. But Claude didn’t want to. He nipped Byleth’s hip playfully, right where she had that wonderful scar that had always teased him, and she yanked at his hair. “Ow.”

“Play nice,” Byleth chided, a lazy smile on her lips.

Claude decided he would do no such thing.

He nipped at her again, causing Byleth to yelp. When she jumped up to swat him, he caught her hand, pulling her in for a kiss as he laughed. “I hate you,” Byleth growled between kisses.

“No you don’t,” Claude replied. He ran his hands over her bare back. “I have strong evidence that says otherwise.”

Byleth looked up at him, green eyes gleaming mischievously. “I mean, if _that’s_ what you want to call me conning you into a one night stand—Claude!”

He pinched at her ribs, tickled her neck. Anything to make her squirm. “Take that back,” he laughed.

“Only if you—“ she pinched him back—“stop!” she laughed.

Claude’s hands froze. He waited expectantly, a confident grin on his lips.

“I take it back,” Byleth whispered. She was breathing hard, and Claude wasn’t entirely sure it was from his tickling. “I could tolerate sleeping with you again under the right circumstances.” She smiled, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Her back straightened so she could reach up and kiss Claude on the jaw.

Claude laughed back. “Minx.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. “Schemer.”

Claude kissed her again, long and slow, letting his hands explore her soft skin all the while.

“We can’t stay much longer,” Byleth reminded him. But she hardly sounded like she was ready to leave the bed, either.

“All I’m hearing is that we can stay a _little_ while longer,” Claude teased. Byleth groaned, throwing her arms over his shoulders and burrowing her face in his neck.

“If we don’t leave now, we are going to have to surrender to Edelgard, because we will never getting out of this bed,” Byleth said in his ear.

“Are you not tempted?” Claude teased. He squeezed the back of her thigh, fingertips tracing the inner curve.

Byleth shifted so she could look at him. She brushed a strand of hair out of his face and kissed his nose. “Of course I am,” she confessed. “I wish we could spend every night like last night.” She pressed her finger to Claude’s lips to halt whatever smart-ass comment he was about to make. “But business first. We have to prepare to fly back to Garreg Mach in a couple of days.” Her eyes looked sad as she watched him.She kissed him once more and crawled out of the bed. “Do you want to go down with me for breakfast, or would you rather stay here and pack?”

Claude frowned at her, pondering. “If we have to leave, we might as well not linger. You get food, I’ll pack. We can meet up at the stables?”

“Sure,” Byleth said absently. She pulled on her pants followed by her tunic, all while Claude lazily watched her. Byleth snuck a glance at him and her face flushed. “See something you like?”

“Yes.”

Byleth laughed. Once her boots were on, she walked back over to the bed to quickly kiss him on the cheek. “Get dressed,” she commanded, then she promptly walked out the door. Claude pouted at her fleeting figure. Then, he sighed, pushing the blanket off his body and standing to find his clothes. Once he was dressed, he checked the room for their belongings. There were few, since most of their stuff had remained with Claude’s wyvern rather than making it to their room. Everything was packed in a manner of minutes. Claude grabbed his shoes and coat then walked toward the stables.

“Hey there, boy,” he cooed to the animal. “They take good care of you, eh? You look like you ate too much last night.” The wyvern made a pleased gargling sound. “Ah, I knew it.”

“The two of ye are headin’ off then?”

Claude looked over and smiled at the tavern keeper. “We have some business to attend to back home.”

“Ah, that’s right. City slickers. Always in a rush. The beast was fed this mornin’. If yer ready to leave, I’ll fetch yer wife.”

The tavern keeper trodded off once more, leaving Claude to check the saddle straps and walk the wyvern into the open air on his own. Byleth walked up just as he tied the last of their packs to the saddle. “A part of me wondered if you would still be in bed by the time I was done.” Her eyes crinkled as she pressed a quick to his lips.

“I was trying to respect my wife’s wishes to leave on time.”

“Oh, is that it?”

A laugh, followed by another kiss. Claude noticed a bag slung across her shoulders, practically bulging with wrapped goods. “What were you doing?” he chuckled.

Byleth tilted her head. “I bought some things from the store next door.”

“What sort of things?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Claude playfully rolled his eyes. “Want to try flying again? It’s been a while since we practiced.”

“I’m willing to give it a try.”

Nader was waiting for the pair when they landed later that morning. The smile on his face was a little too wide, a little too confident for Claude’s liking. “Enjoy your day off?” he asked. Claude ignored him, hopping off the saddle then turning to help Byleth down. “You were gone longer than expected.” When Claude took Byleth’s hand, he slipped the ring off her finger.

“Knock it off,” Claude warned. He placed his ring back on his own finger, disguising the action as a fidget.

“I certainly hope you enjoyed yourselves,” Nader continued.

Claude shot him a warning look.

“I’m going to take care of a few things,” Byleth muttered. She walked forward, grabbing her bag of newly purchased goods then patting Claude’s shoulder. “Be nice,” she whispered with a wink. She hurried towards the house, leaving Claude to glare at Nardel.

“You have the worst sense of humor,” he noted with a snarl. Nader only laughed.

“I never knew you to be so delicate, kiddo.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Am I touching a nerve?”

“I have to unpack,” Claude replied flatly, refusing to let Nader get a rise out of him. He started working on the saddlebags. “I’m supposed to meet with the woman we hired to run the orphanage today. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“I’m just glad you finally took my advice and got laid.”

Claude glared at one of the buckles.

“Or was that supposed to be a secret?”

“I hate you!”

“I have to say, though, I applaud your choice in partner.”

Claude threw something at him. He wasn’t sure what.

Nardel was still laughing.

“At least you’re taking your _own_ advice for once. I’m glad you and Judith are getting along so well.”

Nader was still smiling, but his expression grew tight. He walked away muttering in Almyran, loud enough for Claude to hear, that he liked the boy much better as a virgin.

Claude hardly thought the joke was funny.

The evening sun was setting when Claude concluded his meeting. He had not eaten all day, so he headed towards the kitchens. There were no guests to entertain, not with the roundtable meeting being the next day. Claude hoped he could quickly grab a bite then head to his study.

If he was lucky, he would run into Byleth somewhere along the way.

To Claude’s surprise, none of the cooks were rushing about like they usually did when Claude snuck in. In fact, the three of them weren’t even working. They were standing around one of the countertops, wiped clean save for a bottle of wine that they seemed to be splitting. “Well well, must be a quiet day,” Claude said with a laugh. The three cooks jumped.

“Duke Riegan!” One of them exclaimed. “Erm, we were just—“

“Relax,” Claude said, waving his hand at them. “Don’t mind me, I’m just grabbing food.” Though, now his interest was piqued. They seemed to be nervous about the bottle, but it didn’t come from Claude’s cellars. The glass was the wrong color. “Where did that come from?”

“From Lady Eis—Byleth, I mean,” another of the cooks said. She swirled the wine in her glass, appearing the least flustered at Claude’s presence. “She said she bought it while you were out this morning.”

“Huh,” Claude said. He opened and closed different shelves, pulling out whatever he could eat quickly while the cooks slowly resumed their conversation.

“Duke Riegan, are you sure you do not want us to prepare something for you?”

“No, enjoy your wine.” Claude did not turn back to look at them. There was not much to eat. Claude picked an apple that looked slightly bruised, a slice of bread and some cheese and decided he would make do with it. He pulled up a chair to the opposite end of the counter as the cooks and ate in silence.

“But she wouldn’t have a lover!” one of them whispered, clearly scandalized. “How does a woman have time to wage war and maintain a relationship?” Claude’s ears felt hot. He kept his head down.

“What if her lover is traveling with her?”

“Oh, how intriguing! Another soldier, perhaps?”

“No, I heard she was an old opera singer.”

Claude dropped his apple. The cooks looked at him.

“Sorry,” he laughed. “Long day, weak fingers. Don’t mind me.”

The cooks spoke quieter now. Claude did not mind. He had a fairly solid guess who they were referring to. As far as he knew, Edelgard was only close to one opera singer. The very same one who had a crush on her at the Officer’s Academy.

Not that he knew what to do with that information.

Once he had finished eating, Claude rose silently and left. He stalked toward the study, more distracted than he intended to be. Regardless, when he opened the door and found Byleth—his Byleth—sitting curled up on the lounge sofa beside his desk, a book in her lap, thoughts of all other things melted away. She did not look up when Claude leaned over and placed a kiss on her temple, but he caught the slightest twitch of her mouth. “You are spoiling my employees rotten.”

“With a few bottles of wine?” Byleth asked. Claude snorted.

“There was more than one?! Why would you give so much wine to the cooks?” He sat on the couch, his fingers barely brushing across her shoulder. Byleth started at his touch, then shifted as if nothing had happened. Claude noted the way her eyes fluttered as she looked back to her book.

“No,” she said carefully. “There was one for Greta, two for the cooks, two for the stable workers, and three for the maids. All based on how many there are who can drink legally. I don’t play favorites.”

Claude tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess I’m curious why you decided to splurge like that?”

“As a thank you. They’ve been really kind to me since I’ve been here, and we’ll be leaving in a two days. . . In case I never come back, I want to be remembered fondly.”

Claude stared at her.

“It’s practical, don’t argue with me.” She still wasn’t looking at him. “We agreed together that turning back time short of a few minutes here and there was too dangerous. We don’t know when Edelgard will surprise us by showing up again, and. . .” Byleth sighed, closing her book and finally looking up to meet Claude’s eyes. “There are risks that come with that.”

“I know,” Claude said softly.

Byleth said nothing, but she was still watching him.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” Byleth said. “But I was half expecting you to ask me to bend the rules now that things are. . . Different.” She looked back towards her book.

Claude hummed softly to himself. “No,” he whispered. “Because that would require going back on my end, as well.” Byleth was so still, so silent, that Claude was certain she already knew what he meant. “But I can’t have you saving me at the risk of Edelgard finding out you are the one with the gift to rewind time, rather than me.” He almost cupped Byleth’s cheek, then thought better of it. The door to his study wasn’t closed, after all. And they still had to be careful. “Nothing has changed in regards to your safety being my priority.”

Byleth frowned at that.

“But for me, things have changed,” she said, still not looking up at him. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Last night changed everything.”

Claude didn’t know what to say to that. But he knew that moment was not the time to argue. “We’ll figure it out,” he said weakly. He stood up and walked to his desk as Byleth watched him. “I’ll try to come up with a plan.”

A bellowing roar had Claude dropping his training axe and running out to his fields in an instant, with Byleth right behind him. “That sounded like a wyvern,” she said. “Do you think someone is messing with your herd?”

“No, I don’t,” Claude replied. Because the roar was too deep, too loud to be a wyvern from Fódlan. Even seven years later, Claude knew an Almyran wyvern’s roar.

Nardel was already in the clearing, cursing to himself as much as to the young men trying to restrain the massive white beast in front of them. “Shit!” one of them shouted, barely dodging a large row of teeth when the wyvern snapped at him.

“He doesn’t like that!” Claude called. The other men all took a step back as the wyvern jerked it’s head towards Claude’s voice. “Haver was muzzled as a hatchling. The last thing you ever want to do is remind him of it.”

Haver jerked his head to the side then took a step forward on one of his thick, scaly legs. Claude was running now. It really was Haver! After all this time, Claude thought he was never going to get the chance to see his sister’s wyvern again.

“You haven’t changed much, eh, you bastard?” Claude asked. He lifted his hand so Haver could sniff it, staying perfectly still until the albino wyvern nosed his palm, silently giving permission to step forward. “Did they refuse to ride you and let you get fat?” Claude whispered, scratching Haver’s chin.

Haver snorted in reply.

“Figures. . .” Claude muttered. In truth, the beast was more fit than Claude remembered.

“Duke Riegan. . .” On of the younger men said, reminding Claude that he had an audience. The young man bowed awkwardly when Claude looked up at him. “We were informed early this morning that a package was to arrive for you from Judith. All we found was this. . . Erm, wyvern, with a parcel and a letter attached to its saddle. We think it may be part of some elaborate prank—“

“It is no prank,” Claude assured them. He resumed scratching just under Haver’s chin “This is my family’s wyvern, I know him well. Did you say there was something attached?”

“Yes, Duke Riegan,” the second young man said.

“Here, I’ll take it,” Byleth offered. She retrieved the parcel and letter, then walked back to Claude’s side.

“We can take it from here,” Claude said. “Thank you.”

The two young men bowed, then practically fled from the wyvern’s presence. Nader watched them leave, shaking his head all the while. “I think those two boys were scared shitless,” he muttered.”Not that I blame them. Even I’m wary around the Great White Asshole.”

“Why is he here?” Claude wondered. He started to check Haver for injuries. “Any clues in the package, Teach?”

He looked down at the now-crouching figure. She was reading over a small parchment while her free hand idly tugged at the string wrapped in a bow around the parcel. Haver nudged Claude, reminding him that looking away was not a good enough excuse to stop scratching under his chin. “‘A true warrior must be prepared for battle’,” Byleth read. “‘May these gifts equip you for the war at hand, and bring you back to your family looking like a man worthy of victory’.” She looked up at Claude. “It isn’t signed.”

“I’m not surprised,” Claude chuckled. “But I have a pretty strong idea who it’s from.” There had been a second letter from Claude’s father the day before the meeting that he had not gotten around to reading yet. Perhaps if he had, there would have been a little more warning in regards to the elaborate “gift” in front of him. Claude gave his full attention back to Haver. “_So, you are now a beast of war, huh? Did you eat too many people without Hadassah around to temper your mood?_”

“Kiddo,” Nardel said warningly. Claude made a face. He did not realize he had slipped into Almyran. He would have to be careful if he was going to bring Haver with him into the Empire. The people of Fódlan may not know his culture, but there were certainly a handful out there who knew his language.

“Thanks for the warning,” Claude said to him. Nardel only nodded.

Byleth started laughing to herself in increased volumes.

“Oh, gods. What?” Claude asked. He shifted to look back at her while keeping his hand on the moody wyvern. Byleth beamed up at him. The package had been torn open, and inside was a bundle of fabric that Claude immediately recognized as a Barbarossa’s uniform. Byleth held up the tunic, showing him the deep V of the neckline.

“Now I am not at all saying that it will be a disappointment to see you in this,” Byleth teased. “But I am wondering how well it will do in terms of armor?”

“Well, you see, Teach,” Claude began in a teasingly-chastising tone, “The benefit of being so high up in the air is I am an extremely difficult target to hit.”

“And what if a Pegasus or wyvern rider comes after you?”

“I have a bow, don’t I?”

“He’ll blind them with his cleavage,” Nardel answered, completely monotone.

“Is that how you win so many battles?” Byleth asked, turning to Nader.

“It’s how I win _all_ of my battles,” Nader confirmed. Claude resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Byleth looked back up at him, her smile not quite as wide but an equal amount of amusement gleaming in her eyes.

“Does this mean you’re honestly going to wear this into battle?”

Claude shrugged. “It’s a gift from my parents. How could I deny it?”

“Won’t that highlight you as an. . . As a foreigner, though?” Byleth wondered.

“Barbarossa is a rank honored to many nations,” Nader explained carefully. “And it’s not as if there’s much mystery to the fact that Claude’s father was. . .” Nader snuck a look to Claude. “Born elsewhere.”

“So, no danger?”

“No danger.”

Byleth nodded. Her expression turned thoughtful as she rummaged through the remnants of the package. Claude opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong when Haver made an irritated rumbling noise, flapping his wings then folding them again.

“The beast is probably restless,” Nader noted. “You might want to take him for a ride. If anything, it’ll be good to re-bond with him before you march out into battle. You’re heading back to the monastery tomorrow, right?”

“Or the day after. We haven’t decided yet.”

Nader grunted in reply. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I have better things to do then avoid being eaten for lunch. I’ll bring your shit inside too.” The scar-faced man took the package from Byleth’s hands, then waved half-heartedly as he stalked back towards the house.

“Wanna come with me?” Claude asked Byleth.

“Sure,” she said with a tight smile.

Claude nodded. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, then turned to check the saddle that Haver was already wearing, adjusting the straps and testing the reins before he hopped up and extended his hand for Byleth to join him. She took his hand silently, sat behind him, then kissed the crook of his neck.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Claude snapped the reins, and Haver flew directly upward. Byleth clung to Claude’s back at the sudden rush of wind. He debated on easing up, but Haver was restless. The animal was flapping his wings harder and climbing higher no matter the guidance Claude tried to give him. It was as if his excitement at having a rider once more was overpowering his old training. Given that it was very possible no one had ridden him in seven years, Claude found that understandable. Perhaps he should not have brought Byleth after all. . .

“Teach!” he called into the wind. “You’ll bring me back if this goes poorly, right?”

Byleth nodded against his head. There was a small part of Claude that found relief in the fact that she wasn’t immediately stopping him when he stood out of the saddle. That at least meant this was his first time trying.

Haver was still climbing higher. Claude tapped Byleth’s hands, signaling for her to let go as he handed her the reins. Then, he wrapped his arms around Haver’s chest, shimmying up towards the wyvern’s head while clinging on for dear life.

“_Okay, my friend_,” Claude said to him. “_Time to level out now_.”

The beating of Haver’s wings slowed.

“_That’s it. There will be other flights. You don’t need to go so high, you eager bastard._”

Haver shook his head, and Claude nearly lost his grip.

“_Okay, okay_,” Claude chided. “_I deserved that_.”

They were still flying fast, but at least they were no longer climbing into the cold wind. When Haver finally seemed to level out, Claude inched his way back until he was on the saddle again. “What did you do?” Byleth asked.

“Just talked to him,” Claude replied.

“You’re so strange.”

“Don’t I know it,” Claude laughed.

Haver’s energy must have been a quick burst, as he was descending towards an unmarked clearing no more than twenty minutes later. Claude determined it was for the best. He had not intended on going riding at all that day, anyway, so he would not be upset at a short flight. “Let’s stretch our legs for a bit,” Claude said to Byleth. “Then we can head back to the house.” He helped her down with a smile and a wink, but she said nothing in reply. She had hardly spoken during the flight, either. Claude did not ask her about it, though. She would talk when she was ready. 

Byleth didn’t follow as he walked around the clearing, wanting to avoid getting sore later.

“_You’re so very handsome_,” he heard Byleth say, stumbling through the Almyran words. Strange, that she would be speaking Almyran. “_I love your white scales_.”

Ah, that was it.

Claude did his best to turn around slowly, so as to not alert Byleth to the fact that he was watching her speak to Haver. She offered her hand up, but waited for the large wyvern to nudge her palm before she started stroking his nose. Just like Claude had done earlier. Haver made a purring noise as she continued to shower praise on him. “_See? You can be sweet. Just because Claude is jealous doesn’t mean you have to be so bitter_.”

“Why did I teach you Almyran if you’re just going to insult me?” Claude asked, causing Byleth to jump. She continued stroking the length of Haver’s face. “It’s amazing, how much you’re remembering now.”

Byleth smirked. “The frustrating thing is that I actually have very little in the way of concrete memories.” Her smile saddened. “It’s all. . . hazy. But I find the things that are more practical tend to just flow out of me like I always knew them. It’s as if, hmmm. . . As if I’m swinging a sword. You never forget once you’ve done it enough times.”

“Like muscle memory?” Claude guessed.

The sadness in Byleth’s eyes lessened. “Precisely.”

Claude sighed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her like he had wanted to kiss her since she left their inn room the morning before. “You’re upset about something.”

Byleth frowned, but nodded.

“Care to share?”

Byleth huffed. “There was more to the letter that was sent to you. The wording of it was. . . strongly suggestive.”

Claude stiffened. “Suggestive how?”

“Like. . . Whoever wrote it is betting on you returning to Almyra sooner rather than later. And seems to think the ‘gift’ given to you today will convince you to do what they want.”

Claude scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he started pacing. “My father wants to retire,” he muttered. “Not that I blame him. Almyran kings are hardly ever gray. But he of all people should know that I cannot be bought or bribed.”

“Is it common for Almyran father’s to bribe their sons?”

Claude scoffed again, an image of one of his uncles whispering conspiratorially to one of his own sons while glaring at Claude piercing his mind. “You would be surprised.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Claude shrugged. “Test his patience.”

“Test a king’s patience?”

Claude flashed Byleth a smile. “It’s an amusing pastime.”

Byleth rolled her eyes. “I feel like you should take this more seriously.”

“Teach,” Claude sighed. “My father has been asking me to go home for _years_. He can wait a few more months.”

“And if the war takes longer than that?” Byleth asked.

Claude kissed her again. Half to assure her, half simply because he wanted to. “It won’t,” he promised her. “We have a plan, remember?” When she sighed, Claude smiled at her gently. “Just have a little faith.

That night, Claude sat at his desk, with Byleth curled up on the sofa beside him, sleeping soundly. He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and reached for his quill, hastily writing a note to be sent to Almyra.

_If you want this war to end so quickly, why not send some help rather than complaining?_

A knock at Claude’s door woke him up the night before he and Byleth returned to Garreg Mach. He sighed, lazily dragging himself out of bed to open the door. “Teach?” He mumbled, blinking at Byleth’s shadowed figure. “What are you—“

“I know we need to keep our distance.” Her voice was shaking. Claude blinked the sleep out of his eyes. When he looked at Byleth—really looked at her—her face was stained with tears. “But can I come in?”

Wordlessly, Claude nodded. Byleth didn’t cry. She was not the kind of person to cry. So why was she crying? He stepped aside, and after looking around, Byleth stepped in. She stood by the edge of Claude’s bed, waiting for him to sit down and pull her to his side. “What happened?” he whispered.

“It was just a dream,” Byleth said, her breath shuddering. Claude knelt on the mattress, pulling her closer so he could stroke her hair until she elaborated further. “I saw every time I’ve watched you get killed,” she whispered. “By Jacobe Donovan’s hand, or the Death Knight’s. I—I. . . Claude, don’t make me do this again,” she begged. “If I can’t rewind time when Edelgard is near, and if something happens to you—“

“Nothing will happen to me.”

“You don’t know that,” Byleth said. She furiously wiped at her face. “You want it to be true, but you do not know it for certain.”

Claude opened his mouth and snapped it shut again, opting to override his need to argue and just let Byleth process her emotions instead. She was right, regardless. Claude could cling onto Sothis’s words all day long, but they were not a guarantee.

Only a hope.

“Can’t we stay for one more day?”

“We could, if you really want to. But it would only be delaying the inevitable, Teach.”

Byleth nodded thoughtfully. Claude leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as his fingertips traced the outline of her neck, her shoulders, her arms. “You’re right,” Byleth whispered a long moment later. “The sooner we go back, the sooner it’s over.” She leaned into his touch. Claude pulled her closer in response, massaging the place on her neck where her spine met her skull.

“I’ll do everything in my power not to die on you again,” Claude promised. “I just got you back, I’m not ready to let go.”

“Nor am I.”

Claude kissed her, again and again until his chest ached.

“I should go,” Byleth murmured.

“No,” Claude said. “You can stay.”

The next morning, Byleth woke up early. Claude was not entirely sure when she had left his bed, or whether she had even slept at all. All he knew was he reached his hands out on the mattress to stretch and found that she wasn’t there. He sat up lazily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The morning light was barely peering in through his window, and he wondered if she crept back to her room to avoid raising any eyebrows. However, with how she had been the night before, Claude wanted to make sure she as okay. Wishing he could just go back to sleep, Claude pulled himself out of bed and searched for his pants. When they were on, he trudged out of his room with a yawn.

Byleth was not in her room, she was not in the library, nor was she in the kitchens or the training grounds, the courtyard or the stables. With little options left, Claude found himself in the wing that had at last been converted into an orphanage. The head caretaker was sitting by the front door, sipping a cup of tea as she blinked slowly. It seemed Claude wasn’t the only one regretting being awake at an early hour.

“Good morning,” Claude said softly. The caretaker’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Duke Riegan,” she greeted him in an equally-quiet tone. “Is everything alright? I did not expect to see you in here today.”

“I’m just looking for Byleth,” Claude explained. The caretaker grinned slightly.

“She’s here,” she said. “One of the younger ones woke me up crying about twenty minutes ago because he was hungry. Lady Eisner appeared out of nowhere and offered to feed him for me so I could rest.” She yawned. “I don’t think that will happen any time soon, but it was kind of her to give me a break.”

“I agree,” Claude whispered. “Your work has just started. It would be a shame to see you burn out early.”

The caretaker smiled and shrugged.

“Where is she now?”

The caretaker pointed to the door just behind her. With a quick word of thanks, Claude tiptoed into the room.

Byleth sat on a wooden chair with an old blanket draped over her shoulder, cradling an infant in one arm while a near-empty bottle hung from her other hand. As far as Claude could tell, the infant was sound asleep. His suspicions were confirmed when Byleth saw him, and gestured for him to keep silent. Claude grabbed a nearby chair and set it right next to hers.

“Did you know babies were so soft?” Byleth whispered. She lifted a single, calloused finger and stroke the baby’s cheek. The child seemed unbothered by the action, his eyes still closed and his mouth hanging open in a lazy “o.” Claude lifted his finger and mimicked the action.

“I was surprised when I didn’t find you in bed,” he whispered. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Byleth shook her head. “Too big a day for that.” She stroked the child’s cheek once more. “Both of his parents were killed. His four-year-old brother has been stealing food to feed him for the last few months until they were brought in yesterday. . .” Byleth sighed. “I have to keep reminding myself that this is why we’re fighting the war.” Claude nodded when she looked up at him.

“War kills. I’m just hoping to put an end to that.” Claude sighed. “And help those who ended up as collateral damage in the meantime.”

Byleth pressed her lips together. Together, the three of them sat in silence. The sun rose in the window, warming Claude’s back as he watched the sleeping boy in Byleth’s arms. All too aware it would be the last moment of peace he felt in a while.

Several minutes later, the caretaker came in, looking a little more refreshed than she had when Claude first saw her. She gingerly picked up the infant, careful to cradle his head. “He should get back to his crib,” she whispered. Then with a slight curtsy, she left the room.

“We should get ready for the day,” Byleth huffed. “We have a long journey ahead of us if we intend to make it to Garreg Mach by nightfall.”

Claude smiled as best as he could. Together they walked back to his room so he could pack his belongings. Byleth was the most talkative she had been in days. She wondered aloud how everyone else had fared in the last month, who had gained the most support, who got to visit family, who would be happy and who would be grieved to return? Claude let her talk. It was probably good for her, he decided. At the very least, it seemed to distract her from the fears she had expressed the night before. That alone was enough for him.

After he had everything tight in bundles, Claude noticed Byleth looking through the drawer where he kept his old severed braid. “What are you doing?” Claude asked with a laugh.

“I had a thought,” Byleth said. She turned around and promptly sat Claude on his bed, then took a portion of hair from the side of his hair. “If you’re going to wear that armor, and ride that enormous wyvern. . .” Her fingers worked awkwardly to weave his hair in three strands. “Then you might as well start honoring your heritage again and braiding your hair, right?”

Claude’s heart fluttered, though he doubted Byleth noticed the dumb, wide grin on his face. He snuck a glance at the door, checking that it was closed.

There would be no one looking for them in the near future, anyway.

“After all, I wouldn’t want you to shame your people by—No!” She squealed with a mixture of shock and laughter as Claude pulled her onto the mattress.

An hour later, he had to get dressed all over again.

The wyverns were saddled for them, so Claude and Byleth had to opt for a quick breakfast that they could eat on the flight to the old monastery. “Am I not riding with you?” Byleth asked.

“We were too much of a burden on the flight from Myrddin Bridge. It felt cruel to do that again.” Claude grinned and winked at her. “Besides, you’ve been doing fairly well with your lessons. I’m sure you won’t fall off.”

“Oh, thank you for the vote of confidence,” Byleth said dryly.

Claude only laughed in response.

Nader came to meet them just before they left. He embraced Byleth like a long-lost daughter and whispered something in her ear that Claude could not make out. Then, he turned to Claude with a wide grin and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just don’t take too long coming back, you hear? I’m going to be driven nuts surrounded by all the brats you picked off the street.”

“Oh you’ll be fine,” Claude assured him teasingly. “You have a daughter back home, right? What’s twenty more kids to raise?” He slung his leg over Haver’s back, patting the white wyvern’s neck. When Byleth was ready, they leapt into the sky together.

The sun was setting when Claude signaled for Byleth to land. He waited for her to find a suitable clearing, knowing he and Haver would have the easier time getting on the ground. “Having trouble, Teach?” Claude called, watching with amusement as Byleth wobbled out of her saddle. She shot him a glare.

“No,” she said stubbornly. Still, Claude rushed to catch her when she nearly fell over.

“It’s not like being on a horse, is it?” He said with a laugh. “You’ll get used to it. You won’t be sore forever.” He kissed her nose, still keeping a hold on her.

“You wouldn’t think it would be so different. . . But it is,” Byleth admitted. “I blame the size.”

“You also don’t sit at the same angle On the saddle.”

“Mmm, true.” Byleth smiled up at Claude, then tapped on his arm. “Okay, von Riegan, let me go. I don’t want to set up camp in the dark.”

“Fine,” Claude conceded, letting her go. He proceeded to gather firewood while Byleth set up their tent. Once the fire was started and the wyverns unsaddled, Claude started a fire. “We should sleep out here tonight,” he said. Byleth frowned slightly.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” she asked.

“I mean, out of the tent, under the stars?”

“I wish you would have thought of that before I set up the tent.”

Claude grinned widely. “Sorry. I didn’t think of it until right now.”

Byleth playfully rolled her eyes. She ducked into the tent and came back out moments later with a bedroll, which she proceeded to throw at Claude’s face. “Then you set up the bedding.”

“I can agree to that.”

The fire was warm and the night was dark and quiet. Claude wrapped his arm around Byleth, who curled up against his side.

“Tell me something.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you have any religious beliefs before Sothis?” Claude asked.

“Not really,” Byleth admitted. “Not that I was actively against religion, but. . .” She shrugged. “Dad kept me away from the church, never taught me anything about it. I just picked up things here and there from observing the other mercenaries, and figured it was just a way people talked.”

“Seriously?”

Byleth looked up at him. “Did you expect anything different?”

“Not really, but it’s still amusing hearing you say it.”

Byleth chuckled. “Well, what about you then? I know the goddess wasn’t worshipped in Almyra, but I actually don’t know anything about the gods you pray to.”

Claude gestured up to the sky. “You’re looking right at them.”

“You worship the stars?”

“I don’t worship anything,” Claude pointed out. He glanced at the woman laying beside him and his chest red warm. “Well, except maybe you,” he purred, nipping at her neck. “But that’s an entirely different affair. Full of politics and scandal—”

“Stop,” Byleth laughed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“Claude,” Byleth said warningly.

“Okay, okay,” Claude laughed. Byleth rewarded him with a peck on the cheek when he pulled away. “Almyrans believe that there are many gods, who reside somewhere beyond the stars. Each god watches over a different aspect of life or the world that we live in, so we pray to different gods for different purposes. As the second child to the king, who had a target on his back since the day he was born, however, I found that the gods were rather indifferent to my life. And therefore I became indifferent to them. The only thing that ever made sense about the gods was that we were supposed to be small and insignificant in comparison to them. That really made sense to me once I was old enough to sneak out and look at the stars.” Claude chuckled to himself. “And I mean. . . It makes sense when you think of it. I can never look at the night sky without being reminded of how little I am in the universe. The same stars have been in the sky for thousands of years, and even in the best of circumstances I will not live to see a hundred. Almyran star readers have ancient charts identical to the skies we see now. They were used to tell the seasons, give direction to lost travelers, and. . . They provided a lonely kid some degree of consistency and stability.” Claude shrugged. “That’s more than any god has ever done for me, or anyone else I knew in Almyra who worshipped them.”

“Did Hadassah share your viewpoint?”

“Oh, quite the opposite,” Claude laughed. “Because she was the heir, she spent hours a day rigorously training and practicing different religious rituals for when she took the throne. She had an extensive knowledge of each of the gods, when to pray to them and for what purpose.”

“Wouldn’t you need to learn all that stuff, too? It seems irresponsible to just leave you out of it.”

“Eh, my parents tried to get me to join in the lessons, but they didn’t really care when I skipped out, either. After all, it isn’t like anyone expected—“ Claude cleared his throat. Byleth kissed his cheek, wrapping her arm around his torso and squeezing him tightly. “It’s not like anyone expected my sister to die young.”

“I can’t imagine losing a sibling,” Byleth whispered.

Claude kissed her hair. “I can’t imagine losing a father.”

Byleth said nothing.

“Sometimes I forget that was still only a manner of months ago for you,” Claude whispered. “I know how. . . Engulfed in my own pain I was when I lost Hadassah.” He tilted Byleth’s chin up toward him. “How are you holding up? I don’t ask you that enough.”

Byleth sighed, averting her gaze. “If I’m being honest, thinking about my dad makes me more scared than sad these days.”

“How so?”

Byleth considered the question for a moment. “You know how we tried to save my dad three times and failed?”

Claude nodded.

“To say I felt like a failure doesn’t—“ she huffed. “I have the ability to redo events and fix things that go wrong, and I couldn’t even stop my own father from being killed. . . And now, I have hundreds—thousands—of people relying on me with no guarantee that the same thing won’t happen again.” Claude reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “How can I grieve when there’s work to be done?” A cool wind swept through their camp, and Byleth shivered. Claude pulled her in tighter, and shifted the blanket to cover them up more.

“That’s a dangerous line of thought,” he whispered. “Take it from a man who spent two years shoving down his grief under the excuse of being too busy.”

Byleth chuckled. “Plus an additional five years,” she teased.

“And here I was trying to be sympathetic.”

“Which I very much appreciate,” Byleth said. She propped herself up on one elbow, kissing Claude softly before looking up at the sky. “Oh, gods in the stars,” she whispered. “Let us end this war quickly with the least blood shed, and may our victory bring an era of peace that will last for a thousand years.”

“And a thousand years more.”

Byleth kissed him one more time. “Let it be so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, kiddies. . . I hate to do this again, but I’m taking the next two weeks off. Life is hectic. Life is busy. Life is full of unexpected surprises. I might have to change my uploading schedule to every other week instead of weekly, at least for the next few months. Just too much going on right now. Thank you for your understanding. I love each and every one of you <3 ‘Til next time!


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth reunite with most of their friends at Garreg Mach, where they make the decision on how they will behave in regards to their relationship. The next several days are filled by preparations to return to Myrddin Bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I’ll save the personal stuff for the end, just wanted to take a moment to say that it’s good to be back and I’ve missed you all!

There was a crowd waiting to greet Claude and Byleth the moment they landed just outside the walls of Garreg Mach. Marianne and Ignatz met them first, all hugs and smiles. Behind them, accompanied by a multitude of soldiers whom Claude had never seen, were a few more familiar faces. Alastair pushed past the others to lift Byleth in his arms, swinging her from side to side before setting her down again with a laugh. Claude ignored the way it made his cheeks heat.

“I know it’s silly to say after seeing you so recently,” Marianne whispered, bringing Claude’s focus back to her, “but it’s good to see you again.”

Claude smiled at her. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek then stepped forward to shake hands and clap shoulders, share smiles and encouraging words. It seemed that many of the men who came to greet them were new recruits, brought into the war after hearing tales of the grand duke who foretold the return of the goddess reincarnated, and the victories they won when side by side. Claude thought the tale was far too grand in comparison to reality, but he also supposed that was how most legends were born.

Just exaggerated stories.

He kept close to Byleth, not only because it calmed his nerves, but because he was afraid they would lose each other in the growing swarm around them. With how closely they were pressed together, they could easily hold hands without anyone noticing. They could, but they didn’t.

“Out of the way, out of the way!” a woman’s voice shouted. Catherine parted the sea of people, opening her arms to Byleth and squeezing her so tight that Claude feared she would be crushed. Still, he could heard Byleth say something excitedly to Catherine muffled beneath the blonde’s armor.

Shamir crept up behind Catherine, side-eyeing the Holy Knight with more than a hint of annoyance on her face. “It’s good to see you again,” she said to Claude, giving him a smirk. “How was your time away?”

“Productive, but filled with one too many stuffy nobles for my taste,” Claude admitted.

Shamir chuckled in reply.

The noise caught Catherine’s attention. She released Byleth from her grip as her head whipped around to face Claude, and when she locked eyes with the man, she smiled widely. “Oh, don’t think you’ve escaped me,” she chuckled. Claude found himself in an equally tight hug as Catherine laughed in his ear. “Does this mean we can finally march on the goddess-forsaken Empire?”

“It means we’ll be starting soon,” Claude grunted. Catherine let him go and shook him excitedly.

“That’s a good enough answer for me!”

At last, the crowd started moving onward, allowing Claude and Byleth to lead their wyverns into the stables. “Lots of new faces,” Byleth noted. “And only some of them look like actual soldiers. They’ll need training before we cross Myrddin Bridge.”

“I agree, but we don’t have the luxury of waiting any longer than necessary,” Claude told her. “We’ll have to train as we march. Even if that means traveling less every day to do so.”

Byleth nodded. “I had the same thought. . . Good thing we over-estimated on your plan. Isn’t that what you told me? You thought we could end the war in three months, but you wanted room for the unexpected?”

Claude chuckled. “That’s exactly right.”

“Well, then it’s fortunate that you’re a master schemer. I can win a battle, but planning out a war is clearly more your strong suit than mine.”

“I’ve just had more practice,” Claude chuckled. “I was raised in a nation of warriors, after all.” There were few people in the area, and none of them particularly paying attention to the pair. So Claude pecked her cheek, hidden by the shadow of the awning they were under. “But I would not be half as clever without you as inspiration.”

“Nor half as distracted,” Byleth said. Her eyelids fluttered to his lips, and she kissed him quickly. “Now, come on. Let’s go find the rest of our friends.”

They found Raphael first, hiding in the kitchens and stuffing his face. “Guys, the food is just not as good at Myrddin Bridge,” he said woefully. “If it wasn’t for Flayn’s fishing, I surely would have died of the tragedy.”

“Speaking of Flayn, where is she?” Claude wondered.

Raphael frowned between bites of what looked like pheasant. “She stayed behind,” he muttered. “There was a small attack a few days before I left. A small group of Imperial soldiers thought they would come test our strength, probably wanting to impress the emperor by taking out the bridge. Most of the healers went home when you requested we spread the word about the professor’s victories, so Flayn volunteered to step in to help the wounded.”

“Did we lose the bridge?” Byleth asked.

Raphael chuckled and shook his head. “Do you think anyone can get past a stronghold like that when guarded by these muscles? It was nothing. I’m just bummed Flayn won’t be here with the rest of us.”

“We’ll see her again soon enough, buddy,” Claude told him. The pair sat with their old friend, asking him about everything they had missed during their month apart. While they talked, the rest of the group slowly found them. First came Linhardt, followed by Leonie, who was followed very closely by Caspar. Then Ignatz, Ashe and Lysithea walked in together. Claude thought Ignatz might have been giving him a funny look, but he decided it was in his head. Marianne sat down silently, a small smile on her face. She listened much more than she spoke, which wasn’t too surprising. But Claude wondered if she had the same thought as himself: he missed his friends when they were apart.

Lastly, Hilda and Lorenz sat down arm in arm. “Finally remembered you have better things to do than look lovingly into each other’s eyes?” Claude asked, pointedly to get a rise out of Lorenz. “How was the little vacation you snuck off for, by the way?”

“Shut up, Claude,” Hilda said, at the same time that Lorenz muttered, “Fuck off,” which somehow just made the whole joke funnier. He was about to add onto the roasting when Leonie cut him off.

“Okay, okay, before you end up embarrassing _all_ of us,”she sighed. She was sandwiched between Caspar and Marianne on the bench across from Claude. Her eyes lit up as she looked back and forth between him and Byleth. “Let’s get into the nitty gritty. How many people did we recruit?”

Claude and Byleth exchanged a look. “We aren’t entirely sure yet,” Claude answered. “We were promised four-thousand from Margrave Edmund, three from Count Gloucester—“

“Three soldiers?” Leonie asked with a smirk.

“Three _thousand_,” Lorenz said, more than a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Add that to the five-thousand from House Goneril—“

“You’re welcome,” Hilda sang.

“—and a thousand here and five hundred there from other lords,” Claude finished.

Leonie’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of people.”

Byleth nodded. “We’re estimating around fifteen to twenty-thousand altogether, including those who came here voluntarily thanks to all of you. Plus enough supplies to put food and a weapon in every hand.”

Caspar let out a low whistle. “Are they all meeting us here?”

“No,” Claude said with a laugh. “We couldn’t house that many men and women at the monastery, so we asked the nobles to send their troops out to Myrddin Bridge. We’re meeting out here to gather the extra volunteers, and the remainder of our belongings. There won’t be much traveling to and from here once we officially cross into the Adrestian Empire, so everything you might want to take better be in you saddlebags by the time we leave.”

“How long until that happens?”

Claude shrugged. “A week, at most. When people stop coming in. We also need the time to lay out our next plan of attack. I’m assuming there’s some reports that we missed?” He gestured to Raphael. “We already know that there was a minor retaliation on the bridge.”

Caspar and Linhardt simultaneously rolled their eyes, which Claude took as a confirmation.

“Any other information can be gathered tomorrow, but we want to be prepared as possible before we march.”

Ignatz, who had not stopped staring at Claude during the entire conversation, leaned forward. “I finally found out what’s different,” he said, pointing a finger. “You started braiding your hair again.”

Everyone stopped talking.

Claude felt himself flush.

“Oh, yeah!” Leonie beamed. “I haven’t seen your hair braided since we were all students.”

“Why did you stop braiding it?” Raphael asked with a quizzical brow. “I just remember that one visit you had it and the next, it was gone.”

Claude did his best to smile. “It didn’t seem very Fódlan.”

“Well, it’s _very_ Claude,” Hilda said with a wink. “You haven’t been you since you cut it off.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Claude retorted.

Hilda stuck her tongue out at him, gaining her an eye roll from Lorenz.

“Why did you start braiding it again, then?” Ashe wondered.

“That would be my fault,” Byleth admitted.

Linhardt lazily lifted his head from the table. “Nostalgia?”

Byleth’s cheeks grew ever so slightly pink. “Something like that.”

That answer must have satisfied him, because he nodded his head then rested it back on his crossed arms.

No one else pressed the matter further.

They stayed up talking late into the night, exchanging stories of how many people they had recruited, and how. It ended up turning into a competition of sorts, on who told the wildest story about Claude and Byleth to get more people to join the army. “That’s not even remotely true!” Claude laughed, half bent over. “Now all of those people are going to think I have mind-reading powers or something. They’re going to be afraid to talk to me.”

“Ah, they won’t think you can read everyone’s minds,” Leonie insisted. She leaned her head on Caspar’s shoulder, and he turned a bright shade of red. “Just that you can read the professor’s mind.”

“Oh, thank you for the clarification,” Claude chuckled. “Still false, though.”

“False, how?” Raphael demanded, grin widening. “Ever since we all reunited, watching the two of you fight side-by-side was more like a dance than a brawl. You always have each other’s back and seem to know where the other is going.” He chuckled. “Besides, you do that weird thing all the time where you just look at each other, and a whole conversation passes.”

Claude and Byleth shared a look.

“You just did it again!”

“Okay, now you’re just seeing things,” Claude said with a laugh. “I think we’re all tired. I’m going to bed. Byleth, are you coming?”

“Sure, why not?” Byleth sighed. The pair stood up, and Byleth raised an eyebrow at Claude. As if asking a question.

Claude shrugged in response.

With cheeks colored pink, Byleth linked her hand with his. Claude winked, then tugged on her fingers as he started walking away from the table.

“Umm,” Leonie shouted. “What is that?”

“What is what?” Claude called over his shoulder.

“What’s going on between you two?” she demanded, and Lysithea gasped.

“Are they holding hands?” Claude heard her hiss.

“I don’t know what your talking about!” Claude laughed. With a grin, he tugged on Byleth’s hand harder as he ran out the door, leaving their friends shouting in surprise behind them.

“You are a child,” Byleth chided with a laugh.

“Oh, let me,” Claude beamed. He slowed his pace when Byleth’s frame was no longer illuminated by the light of the dining hall they had fled. He pushed Byleth against the hedges and kissed her. “My opportunities for teasing are dwindling with age.” Another kiss brushed the side of her neck. “And I don’t have to hide my feelings for you any longer.”

“Still,” Byleth breathed, “we shouldn’t behave like children. Not when we’re leading an army and all.”

Claude groaned in response. At least Byleth hardly seemed eager to separate from him.

Her hands traced upward, cupping Claude’s face as she pressed her soft lips onto his. “But I agree,” she whispered. “Even if we need some level of decorum, it will nice to be with you openly.”

Claude hummed in response, sinking into her touch.

“You seem tired.”

“I _am_ tired.”

“Then go to bed,” Byleth laughed.

“And leave you?” Claude asked. He tightened his grip on her waist. “Too much to ask.”

“Then don’t leave me.”

“Miss Eisner,” Claude gasped teasingly. “Think of the talk.”

Byleth made a point of leaning away from Claude and looking around. “Who’s going to talk if there’s no one around to talk?”

Claude grinned, picking a twig out of her hair.

“Schemer,” he teased.

“Has anyone ever told you that you hold a bow and arrow weird?” Leonie’s asked. Claude shot his arrow, barely missing the center of the target in front of him. Still, he frowned.

“Not as much as they used to,” he told her, “but it was how I was taught.” He gave Leonie a sly grin. “And seeing as how I’m a pretty good shot, I would argue my way is superior.”

Leonie rolled her eyes playfully.

“Come on, you’re up.”

“Yes, sir,” Leonie teased. She stepped up to the mark on the training ground floor as Claude moved away from it. With her bow raised, she snuck a glance at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Leonie inhaled, released the arrow, then exhaled. Her arrow landed just above Claude’s. “Are you really dating Byleth?”

Claude raised an eyebrow at her. “Yes?” he said with a nervous laugh. Leonie side-eyed him again. “Why?”

Leonie shrugged. “I guess I never saw it coming.”

“Really?” He waited for Leonie to reply, but instead she just fidgeted with the end of her bow. “Do you. . . Not like that I’m dating her?”

“I think that’s a harsh way of putting it,” Leonie said with a sigh. “It’s more, I’m. . . Cautious, for her sake.” Claude leaned in, urging her to continue. “Look, you know I love you. You’ve been an upstanding friend and a wonderful leader. But you withdrew from the rest of us so quickly when life got hard. . . I don’t want you to. . .” She fidgeted some more. “I consider Byleth like a sister, ever since Jeralt died. So I would take it personally if you hurt her. That’s all I’m saying.”

Claude chuckled nervously. “Are you _threatening_ me, Leonie?”

Leonie raised her bow, positioning her fingers in the way that Claude usually positioned his own, aimed, then fired. She hit the target dead center. “I might be,” she said with a smirk.

Claude laughed, his chest relaxing. He kissed her on the cheek then nudged her away from the marker on the ground. “Then consider me threatened,” he laughed. He raised his own bow, squinting one eye. “In all honesty though, you don’t have to worry about that. I don’t intend on leaving that woman alone for as long as I can help it.”

“Is that your way of saying there’s a wedding on the horizon?” Leonie asked with a sarcastic laugh.

Claude raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you talking about? We got married a week ago.” Without turning back to the target, he let his arrow fly. It hit the target with a sharp _snick_. “We decided the best way to honeymoon was by going on a murderous rampage through Adrestia.”

Leonie narrowed her eyes. “You have a strange sense of humor, Claude.”

“You started it!”

“Claude!” Shamir’s voice called. The pair turned towards the massive doorway, where Shamir ran in with a hard set to her face. Claude looked at her with a concerned frown. “We just received a report from Myrddin Bridge.”

“Let me see,” Claude said, already halfway to Shamir. He took the report, marked with Judith’s insignia, and read it as quickly as his eyes would allow.

_Word has reached us that the Empire is garrisoning a majority of their soldiers at Fort Merceus. Could mean a formidable foe is approaching._

_-Judith_

Claude stared at the words and frowned. “Thank you,” he said. He paused to look up at Shamir. Her shoulders were slumped, and her stance wavered slightly, despite how determined her expression was. “You should go get some rest. Have you been riding back and forth between us and Myrddin daily all week?”

“I have,” Shamir replied. Her eyes narrowed. “But I’m fine.”

“Shamir—“

“I’ve done reconnaissance missions twice this long with half as much sleep. I promise I’m fine.”

“Just promise me you’ll take a nap before you leave again.”

“The same way that you promised you would let me know if an impish student was going to sneak out of school on a revenge mission?” she asked. Her eyes gleamed mischievously.

“Who is the adult here again?”

Shamir threw up her hands, but said nothing more as she left. So, Claude nodded slowly, looking down to read over the note again.

“What does it say?” Leonie asked, walking over.

“Imperial soldiers are gathering at Fort Merceus.”

“Meaning?” Leonie prodded.

“Meaning one of Edelgard’s best generals is there.”

Leonie sucked in a sharp breath. “Or Edelgard herself,” she noted. “We already know she isn’t above meeting us on the battlefield.”

Claude nodded.

“We’re going to go after her then, right?” Her hands clenched into tight fists.

Claude shot her a look. “We don’t know for certain if it is her.”

“But can’t we find out? Can’t Byleth just use her power to—“ she huffed. “Oh, but I guess she isn’t using it around Edelgard anymore, right?”

“No, it’s too dangerous.”

“Doesn’t it bug you that you never found out why the two of you can remember what the rest of us can’t?”

Claude dramatically rolled his eyes, shoving the note from Judith into his pocket. “Are you kidding me? It never stopped plaguing me.”

“Surely you at least have a theory,” Leonie prodded, a small smile on her lips. “Knowing you, there’s at least one possibility rolling around in there.”

“I wish there was,” Claude said with a chuckle. “I used to think it was because my fate was tied to Byleth’s, that we were bound together—“

“Oh, ew,” Leonie teased. “Don’t say that. Not when you’re _romantically involved_ with her now. That just makes it weird.”

“Most people would consider that more romantic.”

“Yes, but most people don’t know you like I do,” Leonie laughed.

Claude kissed her cheek. “Though speaking of Byleth, I’ll have to tell her about this letter.”

“Ah, go on,” Leonie sighed with a wave of her hand. “I’ll get much more practice gone when you leave.”

“Whatever!” Claude called. He rushed away, trying to remember where Byleth said she would be that afternoon. Was she with Marianne? He thought she might be with Marianne. Meaning they were probably in the chapel. When he walked passed the stairs up to the old faculty offices, he hesitated. A muffled coughing sound could be heard up the stairs, and he feared he knew who the source of the sound was. Sure enough, about halfway up the stairs, he found Lysithea bent over, coughing up blood into that damned handkerchief she always kept hidden. “All right, that’s it,” he growled, picking up the small woman effortlessly. “I’m sick of finding you like this.”

“Better coughing than dead,” Lysithea wheezed half-heartedly.

“Hush.” Claude carried Lysithea to Manuela’s infirmary. She was sitting in the corner, looking out the window with a glass of whiskey in her hand. “Little early for drinking, isn’t it?”

Manuela nearly dropped the glass. She looked as if she were about to yell until she caught sight of Lysithea in Claude’s arms. “Put her on the bed. Dear goddess, what happened?”

“Training accident,” Lysithea lied. “I tried a spell that was too strong for me.”

“Again?” Manuela asked in exasperation. “You think you would have learned not to test your limits back when you were a student here.” When her back was turned, Claude shot Lysithea an annoyed look. Just how many times had she had to go to the infirmary for this ‘cough’, exactly?

Lysithea looked back up at him with a look that said she would impale him on dark spikes if he gave her secret away.

“I caught her halfway up the stairs trying to get to you,” Claude explained.

“Hmm,” Manuela replied absently. “I don’t have to tell you this will feel a little. . . Tingly,” Manuela said to the younger woman. Her hands glowed, and she laid them on either side of Lysithea’s rib cage. She shivered, but her breathing immediately began to sound more clear.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to meet Cyril in the library. . .”

“Ah, ah, not yet,” Manuela chided. She sifted through her drawers and pulled out a dark-colored tincture. “Take a spoonful of this twice a day until its empty. It will keep your throat from becoming sore.”

Lysithea took it grudgingly. “Thank you, Manuela. . . And Claude,” she muttered. She quickly hastened away.

“She’s not actually getting into training accidents, is she?” Manuela asked. Claude glanced at her. She appeared particularly interested in her glass of whiskey, despite the fact that she had just asked him a question.

“It doesn’t seem to be,” Claude answered. “But I can’t get her to give me any details.”

“Hmm,” Manuela said again. She swallowed the rest of the contents in her glass in one gulp, wincing as she did so. “Have you talked to Hanneman about it?”

“Why would I talk to Hanneman about it?”

Manuela shrugged. “He does quite a bit of research. We used to discuss Lysithea’s. . . Predicament, five years ago. He had a theory, but could never get the girl to talk to him, either. But who knows? Sometimes people change when five years pass. . . She might be more open to talking now.” Manuela walked back to her cabinets, pulling down her stashed bottle of whiskey. “Care for a drink, dear?”

“No thank you, I’ve sworn off drinking hard alcohol for a while.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I don’t remember you drinking so much this early in the day.”

Manuela chuckled at that as she poured herself another glass. It wasn’t a light-hearted sound. “Do you ever miss the days where the worst thing to come into this infirmary really was a training accident?” When she looked up at Claude, she looked weary. “Because I do. Hell, I even miss being a professor. I miss my students. I know Caspar and Linhardt are here, but the others are still in the Empire somewhere. Some are even directly our enemies. And when I heard about Ferdinand. . .” Her eyes watered. “You can heal scrapes and bruises pretty easily as a professor. It’s a lot harder to deal with wounds on a battlefield. . .” She finished her second glass quickly, though now Claude was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t her third or fourth. “I don’t think I can march out into battle,” she admitted. “Not against my own students. Not even Edelgard. . . I don’t know how to explain it, but. . .” She laughed humorlessly to herself. “I’m sure that makes me weak.”

“I don’t think so,” Claude murmured. “I think it takes a strong person to know their limits and act accordingly.”

Manuela scoffed.

“You can always stay here. Seteth made sure that the reconstruction of the church would go on after we leave. They’ll need a supervisor who knew what it looked like before the invasion.”

“I’m not exactly a saintly woman, you know.”

“Eh, but you are still a healer are you not?” When Manuela raised a skeptical eyebrow, Claude shrugged. “People get injured doing hard manual labor. It might be good to have someone with your experience and abilities around.”

Manuela exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I’ll consider your offer,” she muttered.

Claude nodded solemnly. “We aren’t leaving for a few more days, so you have a bit of time. Think over your options carefully.”

“I will,” Manuela promised. “Now, now, off with you. I’m sure you have important dukely duties to see to. Don’t let an old woman like me take your time.”

Claude nearly told her that she was not old, and her taking his time was no bother. However, something in her mannerisms communicated that she was not in the mood for flattery. Hardly like herself, but that was war, Claude supposed. When he left the room, Manuela began singing a melancholy tune to herself.

Claude swore he had heard her sing that song before.

The morning they left Garreg Mach, with all their belongings packed and each and every soldier making final preparations in case they never saw the Alliance again, Claude dressed into his Barbarossa armor. He was ready to make a bit of a spectacle of himself, knowing the showy fabrics and high neck guard would bring a level of vibrancy and excitement to the upcoming march. They would not go to battle that day. Far from it. But he needed the soldiers—new and old—to be in high spirits for as long as possible.

With his bags already packed and strapped to Haver’s back, Claude weaved through the sea of helmets and spears to see why Byleth had not appeared yet. He hoped she was fine. Even asked her that himself when he burst through her door.

“I’m _fine_,” Byleth said, shaking her head in amusement. “Just taking longer to pack than I intended. You would think I wouldn’t have much besides armor and a few sets of clothes, but when you consider medicines and maps. . .”

“You’re an over-preparer, then,” Claude chuckled.

“What I am, is almost done. And I would be done sooner if I wasn’t being pestered.” Byleth paused, eyeing Claude up and down. “You’re going to get cold in that,” she laughed, handing him a pair of gloves. They were too large for her, making Claude wonder if they were Jeralt’s. “The air takes longer to warm the higher you are.”

“Then I’ll take care not to let anyone see me shiver,” Claude teased. He pulled on the gloves then wrapped his arms around her waist. “I wish you would ride with me.”

“Hard pass,” Byleth said. “I’ll do much better on a horse. Besides, someone needs to be humble enough to ride with the people they’re leading.”

“What would it take to convince you?” Claude purred, pulling her tighter against him. Byleth raised her eyebrows.

“I’m not you. I can’t be seduced into the cold.”

Claude frowned, feeling the lingering sensation of ice water on his skin. “Now, that is just cruel.”

“It’s not my fault you’re easy to seduce.”

“Oh am I?”

“Yes,” Byleth laughed, leaning into the kisses Claude was placing on her neck. He did his best not to grin.

“Respectfully, I beg to differ.” Claude felt a small surge of victory when Byleth shivered as he ran his tongue along her earlobe. “I think I’m far better at seducing.”

“Is that a challenge?” Byleth asked. She sounded breathy, far less certain than she had a moment ago. Claude ran his lips along her cheek, halting just before his lips reached hers. He looked Byleth in the eye.

“Only if you want it to be,” he said.

Byleth’s breath hitched, but she did not move. “Some other time,” she whispered. She stole a kiss from him before he could protest. “But for now, we should be leaving.”

“I feel like I hear these words a lot from you,” Claude teased, letting her go so she could grab her small bag of belongings that she had only packed that morning. Byleth smiled up at him.

“Not my fault you have to be threatened in order to ever go anywhere,” she teased. “Now, come on, let’s go.” She held her hand out to him. When Claude took it, he lifted her fingers to his lips to kiss each knuckle before setting her hand back down.

“Okay, fine.” They walked hand in hand to the stables. Most of the knights were waiting just out the gates, ready to go. Claude assumed their friends were among them, as most of the stalls were emptied of horses and there was not a familiar face in sight. “I’ll meet you out there,” Claude murmured, halting at Haver’s stall. Byleth let go of his hand, kissed him quickly, then walked away to grab her horse. Haver, when Claude turned to face him, snorted indignantly. “Yeah, yeah. You prefer pretty women, I get it,” Claude muttered. “Believe me, I wanted her to fly with us, too.” Haver garbled in reply. Claude led the pale wyvern out into the open air to check that his saddles and pack had all been secured properly. “Ready to fly?” Claude asked, and Haver perked up at the familiar words. Claude mounted him, adjusting the way he was seated to prepare for the high jump. “Up,” he commanded.

And they soared straight upwards.

The thousands of knights who had been waiting just outside of the monastery cheered at the sight of Claude on Haver’s back, loud enough that Claude heard ringing in his ears for several moments after. The sight was. . . Intimidating. Claude could hardly remember the last time that he had seen so many people cheering before him.

_“Ugh, is this robe really necessary?” Khalid complained. “It’s going to make me sweaty.”_

_Hadassah looked down at him and rolled her eyes. She was dressed head to toe in gold and pink silks, and her hair had been done in elaborate braids. Pink seemed to be her favorite color as of late. She wore it often. “It’s my twenty-first birthday, and you know how big of a deal that is.”_

_“Yeah, yeah. You can start taking on your duties as a future queen.” Khalid stuck his tongue out at her. “It’s not impressive so much as boring.”_

_Hadassah stuck out her tongue back. “If you don’t behave, I’ll tell Momma not to let you stand on the balcony with me when I am presented to the kingdom.”_

_“No!” Khalid complained. “That’ll be even more boring.” His frown deepened. “And you promised that you would ask if I could go with you.”_

_Hadassah got a mischievous gleam in her eye. Why Momma and Papa never believed that his older sister was just as capable of a prank as Khalid himself was was beyond him. . . “Come, little brother.” She snatched his hand. “Or we’ll be late.” Together, they raced toward the throne room, where their mother and father were waiting. When the were close enough to be detected, Hadassah slowed her pace, walking with intention and elegance. Khalid did his best not to roll his eyes._

_“Ah, there you are,” their father chided. He kissed either side of Hadassah’s face. “Are you read to be presented?”_

_“Can I have Khalid stand with me?”_

_Their father’s brow furrowed. “Why?” he asked. “Traditionally, it is just. . .”_

_“I thought you were one to break traditions, Papa?” Hadassah countered. She bounced up and down excitedly, looking more like a girl than a twenty-one-year-old woman. “What’s the harm?”_

_“Oh, just let him,” their mother sighed. She pat the top of Khalid’s head, even though she was barely more than an inch taller than him at that point. Khalid was sure he wouldoutgrow her within the month. “You _know_ they are inseparable, my love.”_

_Their father looked down at Khalid. “Promise you’ll behave?”_

_Khalid stood straighter. “Yes, Papa.”_

_“Good,” their father said. He straightened his back and signaled for the servants on either side of the balcony doors to open the large glass panes. The sound of the cheers was deafening as their father stepped forward. Hadassah squeezed Khalid’s hand._

_“Ready?” she whispered. Her voice trembled ever so slightly now that their parents’ backs were turned. She was nervous, Khalid realized, despite her recent giddiness. And he could hardly blame her. The last time she had made a public appearance, an arrow had found itself lodged on a pillar a mere inch away from her face. But that would not be the case that day. Khalid would protect her, no matter the cost._

_“Ready,” he replied. Side by side, the siblings stepped up to where their father was standing. All Khalid could hear was the clamor below. . ._

Claude blinked, shaking his head at the memory. He waved and smiled to the people below him, knowing his spirits would be reflected in them. That day had to feel important to them, like they were a part of something big about to happen.

Otherwise, what was to stop them from leaving before the fighting begun?

The only thing that made the cheers louder was when Byleth rode up in front of them. The crowd of soldiers parted to make way for her, with many of the people reaching out to her as she passed. That made Claude nervous, but he had to remind himself that to them, this was the goddess reincarnated, the being they worshipped. No harm would befall her at their hands.

Byleth looked up to the sky and raised one hand in the air. Her banner men, at the signal, raised their poles bearing her crest as the symbol for their army. Again, the cheering grew louder, were such a thing possible.

Beneath Claude’s feet, Haver shook his head restlessly. “I know, I know. We’re leaving,” Claude whispered. He flicked his reigns and lowered himself against the wyvern’s neck. Haver excitedly flew where Claude guided him.

And the army began marching below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay!!!! Personal stuff!!! I discussed in my last update that I may not be posting as regularly as usual, but now everything is solidified enough that I can tell you guys why:  
My boyfriend and I have been going through the slow and painful process of applying for a home loan. We’ve both been living with our respective parents for the entirety of our relationship, and we’re ready to have our own space. So, weeks of paperwork and credit checks and coved-safe house tours later, we are officially in escrow for a cute little condo the next city over <333 Then, shortly after starting escrow, he proposed to me. And we’ve decided that six years dating is far too long (for us, lol), so we are taking advantage of the ability to have a small fast wedding that the pandemic has given us, and are choosing to get married August 1st. AAAHHHHH!!!!  
With that being said, the end of July will still be crazy for me!! Escrow closes July 24th and the wedding is an exact week later. Meaning I will not be posting chapters those weekends. Lord willing, I should be able to post a chapter next week so I don’t have a 3 week gap. Then we’ll see how life looks post-wedding.  
As always, thank you for your understanding and love and support. You guys and this fic mean so much to me!!!


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude, Byleth, and their growing army make a final stop at Myrddin Bridge to plan out their inevitable upcoming battle. While there, Seteth learns of something that he disapproves of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I’m going to take a quick moment to say hi, so sorry I haven’t been around, extra apologies to Telsiree because I REALLY thought I would have a chapter for you soon when we last spoke, and all of my personal updates will be at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!!!!!!!!!)

When Claude landed at the bridge, Seteth and Flayn were already waiting for him. Haver ended up flying faster than Claude wanted, so it would be several more minutes before Byleth appeared on the horizon. “How did we fair?” Seteth asked as Claude dismounted. “I surely hope you managed to accomplish more in the last month than just an albino beast and a. . .” he looked Claude up and down, “wardrobe change.”

“We managed to recruit twenty-thousand strong. They are marching right behind me with Byleth in their lead. Will that suffice?” Claude turned to Flayn before her brother could reply. “Hello, darling.” He kissed her cheek. “How have you been? I heard there was a skirmish here while were gone. Are you alright?”

Seteth turned a wonderfully dark shade of red. Claude could not tell if it was from the blatant act of ignoring him or the display of affection toward his sister. Either way, he found it just a little funny.

“Yes, but it was nothing to worry about,” Flayn insisted. “We hardly suffered any casualties.”

“I heard that’s at least partly thanks to you,” Claude laughed.

Flayn’s smile widened. “I just do what I can to help. It’s not much—“

“It is more than enough,” Seteth interjected. He turned back to Claude. “You said Byleth rode with the new soldiers?”

“Yes,” Claude replied. “Do you need to speak with her?”

“More just that he worries about her,” Flayn said with a roll of her eyes. “You would think that she was his daughter with how much he frets. . .”

Seteth cleared his throat. “I would like to get a debrief from her is all.” Flayn rolled her eyes again. “Though now that I think about it, Judith wished to speak with you when you returned. I’m not sure whether you want to. Wait for Byleth or not. . .”

“I’ll go on ahead. Teach might be a good twenty minutes behind me, and I can always relay any information that she needs to know. Are you going to wait for her?”

Seteth nodded solemnly. That made Claude’s brow furrow.

“Is something wrong?”

“I need to discuss. . . Church matters with her.” His eyes narrowed. “The more we search for Rhea, and the more we don’t find her. . .” Flayn lightly touched his arm, and he placed his hand on her hand. “It might be best to prepare for the worst.”

Right. Claude sometimes forgot that Byleth assuming Rhea’s role meant she had to. . . Assume Rhea’s role. He nodded tersely then turned away. The religious aspects of Byleth’s future were not his to manage. She could tell him about it later. For the moment, he had to find Judith.

Luckily, that was never a very difficult task to accomplish.

Judith’s barking of orders could be heard halfway across the fort, and only got louder with every step Claude took. He smiled in greeting when he caught the eye of a berated-looking soldier walking away from the direction of her voice. “Fine day, eh?”

The man grunted in reply.

“Lady Daphnel in a mood today?”

“Oh, yeah,” the soldier replied with a roll of his eyes. “She’s been on high alert ever since yesterday.”

“Was there another attack?” Claude asked.

The man paused, looking Claude up and down with a level of skepticism that Claude hadn’t seen in a while. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said carefully.

“I just flew back in. I’ve been in the Alliance recruiting new men.” Claude stepped up to the man, extending his hand. “I’m Claude.”

The man shook his hand, but did not give his name. “Like the sovereign duke?” he asked.

“Yeah, like the sovereign duke,” Claude said casually. He would let the man interpret that as he wished.

“Balthus!” Judith’s voice barked. Claude looked towards it as she rounded the corner. “I swear to the goddess, if you’re slacking off—And just what the hell are you wearing?!” She glared up at Claude.

“You don’t like it?” Claude asked, turning in a slow circle so she could see the whole ensemble.

“I’ve seen whores dressed in more clothing.”

“This was a gift from my mother!”

“Well, your mother dressed like a whore when she was your age, too!”

“That’s no way to talk about your best friend!”

Judith sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

The man—Balthus, was it?—watched the whole exchange in silence. When Claude said nothing in response to Judith’s exasperation, Balthus finally opened his mouth. “I take it you two know each other?”

“This impotent man-child is the son of my best friend, Claude von Riegan. Claude, meet Balthus. An equal thorn in my side who owes me a lot of money.”

Balthus frowned. “I told you I would repay you,” he growled.

“And your service in the army is doing a great deal for that debt.” Judith smirked. “Which reminds me, weren’t you running an errand for me?”

Balthus rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning against. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered.

Claude arched him as he left. “He’s a real ray of sunshine, that one.”

Judith chuckled. “He’s in a better mood when I’m not ordering him around. And in his best mood with a drink in his hand.”

“Is that how he came to owe you money?”

Judith laughed harder. “You catch on quickly, boy.” She paused to look around him, her arms crossed. “I’m surprised that professor of yours isn’t attached at your hip.”

“I flew, she rode. She’ll be here soon enough.”

“Hmm. I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly after the round table meeting. I was certainly impressed by her, though. She owes me a good duel. . .”

“Balthus said you were upset about something that happened yesterday,” Claude interrupted. No that he had Byleth on his mind, he wondered how long it would take before she would arrive. It might be best to find a place to sleep before the place was swarmed with twenty thousand more people also needing lodging.

Judith raised her eyebrow. “It was nothing, technically,” she said. “An army approached us yesterday. But when we raised our banners, they turned direction and fled.”

“That’s a strange move from the Imperial army.”

Judith frowned. “They weren’t Imperial soldiers. They came up from the Alliance side of the bridge, and they were carrying banners with the crest of Blaiddyd.”

Claude cursed under his breath.

“Do you know who they were?”

“I have a strong guess,” Claude mumbled. He twisted the ring on his finger as he thought. “I was hoping to have a quiet evening, but if what your saying is true—“

“It can still wait until the morning,” Judith finished. “They fled south, and I have an ongoing rotation of men on the lookout for any more intruders. You and your friends will want to have a fresh mind. They aren’t even here yet, right?”

Claude shook his head. “No, not yet.”

Judith huffed. “Let’s get your things, and I’ll help you find a room. But please promise me you’ll change out of those goddess-awful clothes. Are your tits freezing?”

“It’s a little freeing, actually,” Claude laughed. And, because he could not resist a good jab. “Maybe I’ll start taking inspiration from the way you dress.”

Judith rolled her eyes again. “I have better cleavage than you do.”

“Oh, so if I had a rack like yours I would be allowed to dress like you, then?”

“Shut up, boy.”

Claude heard the door behind him open then close, but he scarcely turned. He knew Byleth’s gait well enough to recognize it halfway down the hall. “It took you an hour longer to find me than I expected,” he teased. He set down his quill and wiped his hand of ink. “How was the ride?”

Byleth wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing her face in his back as she sighed. “Long,” she groaned. “You were right, I should have flown with you. It took us longer to get here because of the wind. And of course, Seteth intercepted me as soon as I got in.”

“Did he discuss his church matters with you?”

Byleth’s head jolted up. “You knew,” she hissed. “And you didn’t warn me?”

“How could I have?” Claude laughed. He turned around to face her. “Seteth has a wyvern too, you know. And Haver is hardly stealthy.”

When he leaned down to kiss her, she pulled away, a mock angry glare on her face. “You could have tried.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He purred. When he tried to kiss her again, she let him, sinking into his arms that wrapped tightly around her. “We need to—have a meeting—first—thing tomorrow,” he informed her between kisses.

“All I’m hearing—“ Byleth tugged at his shirt, “is we have—“ lifted it over Claude’s shoulders, “the rest—“ and tossed it on the ground, “of the night free.”

“Does that mean you’re staying with me tonight, Teach?” Claude asked. He fingered the laces of her pants.

“It means you promised me a demonstration of your seduction techniques,” she growled. Her lips moved down to his neck. “And I had a _very_ long afternoon because you didn’t warn me about Seteth. So you owe me.”

“Whatever the lady wants, the lady gets,” Claude purred. He was already undoing the laces, reaching his hands around and down to grab her butt beneath the fabric. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Miss Eisner!” Seteth’s voice called. The door opened before Claude could react, and he found himself face to face with the older man.

A small part of his brain wondered if this was the closest he would ever get to knowing what it would feel like to be caught with Byleth by Jeralt.

“And just what—!”

“Seteth,” Claude began coolly. His hand was still under the fabric of Byleth’s pants. He dared not move it for the risk of calling more attention to it. He could only imagine the lecture. Impropriety and lewd behavior, something something something defiling the goddess, something something. . . Even imagining it was torture. “Is there an emergency?”

Seteth blinked. “No, but—“

“Is there anything that you have to say that absolutely cannot wait until the morning?” Claude’s heart was pounding. This was not a scenario he intended to get out of smoothly, but he could certainly try. Byleth, mere centimeters away from his face, scarcely took a breath.

Seteth’s glare was furious. “No,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then I would kindly ask you to leave, please. As you can see, Teach and I are _very_ busy at the moment having a meeting of our own, and I would appreciate it if we could resume said meeting in private.”

Seteth gaped at him. Claude’s own cheeks grew warm.

But he persisted.

“Unless you would like me to elaborate on what we were discussing?”

“That will be unnecessary,” Seteth snapped. He straightened his shirt and slammed the door as he left.

“Oh, gods, that was terrifying,” Claude whispered. He leaned his forehead against Byleth’s. He still had a feeling in his gut that he would be getting a very long and uncomfortable lecture from Seteth in the morning about sexual misconduct. They weren’t teenagers anymore, for fuck’s sake. Byleth said nothing, but her shoulders shook as she clutched a hand to her mouth. “Are you _laughing_?”

“Maybe,” Byleth squeaked. She looked up at Claude with wide eyes, and Claude found himself laughing breathily, too. “The ironic thing is that he and I just had a discussion today about demonstrating a moral lifestyle to the church followers. I think I may be in trouble in the morning.”

“Well, maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll lecture us both at once and be done with it.”

Byleth laughed quietly at the thought. She turned her head upwards and kissed him quickly. “I guess our moments of privacy are gone, then.”

“Only for now, but I think we can work around most of it.”

“Oh?”

“Byleth,” Claude said teasingly, and he kissed her again. “You are with _the_ master schemer. I think I can find a way to keep people from walking through a door.” He pulled away, grabbing the chair behind him and walking over to block the door with it. When he turned back to Byleth, she made a face. “Impressed?”

“Actually, I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t do something more elaborate.”

“Come now, Teach,” Claude chuckled. “Sometimes the simplest methods are the most effective.” When Byleth laughed, he rushed to her side once more.

The meeting the next morning started significantly earlier than Claude wanted it to. He and Byleth were having the most intriguing conversation about the significance of bees, while curled up in bed together, before Lorenz pounded on their door. But of course, war was war, and there could hardly be a battle meeting without the two of them present. For more reasons than one.

“Judith, do you want to start things?” Claude asked, taking the seat between her and Byleth in the war room. Judith nodded, then rose from her chair.

“As some of you may already know,” she began, “The Imperial army is gathering at Fort Merceus, likely under one of Adrestia’s great generals. We had already intended on marching in that direction once we were all gathered here, but there may be a wrench in our grand tactician’s schemes. It has been called to our attention that we may very well be dealing with another army, as well.” Claude’s eyes wandered to Marianne against his will. “Just the other day, we had a close encounter with a band of soldiers holding a banner bearing the crest of Blaiddyd.”

The room was frozen in silence at Judith’s words. No one seemed to even take in a breath.

At last, Ashe shifted in his seat. “So, we are fighting ghosts, as well as emperors.”

Lysithea shuddered visibly.

And Marianne looked fearfully pale.

Claude cleared his throat. “As far as Judith has said, we are still fighting people, not ghosts. There are still others beside the late prince who are from Faergus’s royal bloodline,” though Claude sincerely doubted it could be anyone but Dimitri’s rebellion whom Judith had seen.

“Does this mean that they will attack us from behind?” Leonie asked. “How do we even predict what they’re after or when we’ll see them again?”

“Well, let’s think of this practically,” Claude said. He tapped the western side of the map. “Outside of the minor attack to test our numbers, Edelgard has not moved her troops further to meet us than the fort.” He moved his finger to where Fort Merceus was marked on the map. “But that’s all bound to change once we actually cross into the Empire. No doubt whoever is gathering soldiers here will march out to meet us at that point. Which is fine by me, because it will mean less soldiers guarding the stronghold when we finally arrive there. Let’s put a pin in that for now, though.” His hand moved further south. “Lysithea, aren’t there a few bridges in your parents’ territory big enough for a small army to move through?”

Lysithea’s eyes looked clouded over for a moment. “There are,” she said cautiously. “But they’re currently occupied by Imperial soldiers.”

“But not as many as there were at Myrddin?”

“Claude, we cannot possibly move all of the men and women we recruited—“

“I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about the third army,” Claude clarified. “Assuming that Edelgard moved men away from the bridges to gather at Fort Merceus, and assuming that army was determined to cross into the Empire, could they get through your parent’s territory?”

Lysithea swallowed. “Probably,” she whispered.

Claude nodded somberly. He tapped the northern-most bridge on the map that was within Ordelia’s lands. “They’ll have a few day’s head start on us. . .” He muttered. “If they start moving north to try and intercept the Empire’s forces, who in turn are trying to intercept us—“

“We’ll all end up meeting at the same time,” Byleth finished, following where his mind was going. She picked up a figurine that they were using as a marker, walked right next to him, and leaned forward on the table to place it at the one spot on the map Claude had been avoiding until then. “Our three armies will collide at Gronder field.”

“Will we even be able to withstand an attack from two armies at once?” Ignatz asked.

Caspar scoffed in reply. “Assuming we even get by my dad,” he muttered.

Claude looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, I should probably remind everyone here that the land neighboring Gronder Field is my father’s land.” He crossed his arms, a bitter expression furrowing his brow. “Though he’s usually in the city this time of year. Or was. I don’t know how war has changed his routine.”

Claude ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think crossing his lands will be a problem?”

Caspar shrugged. “If we’re fast, no. I think it’ll be okay. But it might be smart not to send everyone out at once. We don’t want to get caught in another pincer attack.”

Claude ignored the way his words felt like a punch to the gut. The image of Ferdinand’s lifeless eyes still haunted him. . . “That’s another thing we’ll need to address,” he murmured. His hand subconsciously reached for Byleth’s. “In light of what happened at Myrddin Bridge, Byleth and I have decided that it will be best to use her abilities sparingly for the time being.” He looked to her for confirmation, and she squeezed his hand with a nod of her head. “If there is even the slightest chance that Edelgard will be on the battlefield, then we have to assume that any rewind in time beyond a few moments can harm us just as much as help us.” He looked back to the others standing around the circle. “With that being said, it makes taking her down that much more important. From what we have seen and experienced, she is the only one besides myself who can recall when Byleth’s ability has been used. And we cannot allow that to be used against us.” He looked back down at the map, where Byleth’s marker rested on Gronder Field. “There is a strong likelihood that the day where we face her again will be the day the three armies meet.” His free hand clenched into a fist. “So we must be prepared.”

Hours later, Claude was rolling up the map and fastening a piece of twine around it.Then he rubbed his eyes, tight and tired from the day’s work. The rest of the group was trickling out, much of their talk filled with the desire to eat. Hilda was inviting Marianne to come down and eat with her, but the blue haired woman was more or less unresponsive. Claude had strong suspicions as to why.

“Go on down, Hils,” he called. Byleth, who was still by his side, gave him a quizzical look. “Mari and I will join you soon.”

Hilda looked like she wanted to argue. When Claude shot her a pleading look, understanding crossed her face, then she nodded and left in haste. Byleth cautiously turned fully towards him.

“Should I stay or leave?” she whispered in his ear.

“Doesn’t matter,” Claude told her quietly.

Byleth studied his face. “I’ll go,” she said. “Someone needs to steal you a plate before all the good food is gone.”

“You know the way to my heart,” Claude chuckled. He gave Byleth a quick kiss, then she left.

Leaving only Claude and Marianne.

She said nothing for a long while, so Claude didn’t either. He was content to let her sort through her thoughts and feelings rather than trying to weasel them out of her. He felt like that was the least that he owed her, anyway. “I know that the popular opinion is that he’s dead.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the room, the bitter edge to her words echoed on the walls. “And I will admit that I feared his death for a time. But. . . No one ever confirmed it.” She looked up at Claude, her face void of any expression beside exhaustion. “His country was taken before he even wore the crown, but still, I think someone would have made it public if he had actually been killed. Princes don’t just disappear.”

Claude nodded slowly. “That is a very shrewd observation.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

Marianne huffed. “Is Sylvain with him?” she asked.

Claude blinked. He had not expected that question.

“Did you think it would escape my notice that he stopped writing to everybody around the same time that word of a resistance in Faergus began to spread?”

Claude stammered our a weak reply.

“I’m not angry, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Marianne said to him. Her mouth tilted into a frown. “But if. . . If I am going to have to face him in battle, I may as well prepare ahead of time.” Her hand slowly reached for the ring that she kept hidden beneath her dress. “In case I have to. . .”

“The resistance wants the same thing we want,” Claude whispered, and Marianne looked up at him with what he interpreted as shock. “They just want Edelgard’s war to end. I see no reason that we have to fight them.”

“So you think that they’ll rally beneath our banner, without issue, as if we have been fighting side by side this whole time?”

Claude ran a hand through his hair.

“I thought not. . .”

“But that doesn’t mean we have to actively fight them,” Claude pointed out. “I’ve said it from the beginning. My goal is to win with the least bloodshed, and I mean that.”

Marianne sighed. She rose stiffly from her chair, walked over to him, kissed his cheek. “Then I will need to do a lot of praying between now and then.”

Claude caught her hand as she was about to leave. “Have dinner first,” he insisted.

“I am afraid I would not make very good company.”

“All the more reason to join us,” Claude said. “It’ll put you in good spirits. I’ll even do some extra Lorenz roasting in your behalf.”

Marianne almost smiled. Almost.

Claude released her hand, shifting to link Marianne’s arm through his as he walked. “You can do all the praying in the world after.”

“Seteth still hasn’t said anything,” Byleth observed. Claude’s hands stopped working at Haver’s reigns as he glanced up at her. She was checking her horse’s saddle, but carefully not looking at him. And he quickly saw why. Seteth, from not too far away, was glaring in their direction in a way that Claude found almost nostalgic.

“He probably doesn’t know what to say,” Claude said under his breath, barely concealing his amusement. He pretended to continue his preparations.

“Seteth is hardly the kind of man to refrain from expressing his opinion,” Byleth pointed out.

“Yeah, but this is a little different, isn’t it?”

Byleth still didn’t look up at Claude, but she raised her eyebrows, prodding him to continue.

“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” Claude chuckled.

“All the more reason to tell me,” Byleth said.

“I’ve dealt with Seteth’s disapproval of my romantic life before.”

“Oh, the touchy subject of Claude’s past love life,” Byleth teased. Claude reached over and pinched her butt, and she swatted at his hand. Her face grew red.

“He still thinks of me as a student breaking the rules, I think. But you. . . well, first off, young as you were, you were never a student. And secondly, to top it off, you technically outrank him now. He’s probably trying to resolve the half of him that wants to drag me away from you by the ear and the half that doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of your wrath.”

Byleth chuckled at the thought.

“That or he’s just squirmy over the idea of you having sex with me.”

“I think that’s a safe answer.”

Claude raised an eyebrow at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him. _Fucking adorable_, Claude thought. A face like that deserved a kiss. Or twelve. Claude dropped Haver’s reigns and stalked toward her.

“Dear goddess, Claude, no!” Byleth laughed, playfully pushing him away as he covered her face and neck in a hundred kisses.

“Does he seem appalled?” Claude hummed against her skin.

Byleth swat at him. “It’s hard to look at him when you’re all over me,” she hissed. Claude looked up at her smile.

“You’re cute,” he said simply. He kissed her one more time before releasing her. Haver snorted when Claude started fastening the straps against his muzzle again. “Jealous bastard. . .” Claude muttered to him.

“And yes, I think you were right,” Byleth murmured.

“How so?”

“Seteth is marching over.”

“Oh, boy,” Claude laughed.

“Lady Eisner. . . Duke Riegan,” Seteth said stiffly. His brow was so low over his eyes that Claude could have laughed.

“Yes Seteth?” Claude asked innocently. Seteth glared at him.

“Your army is ready to march as soon as you are,” he said, clipping off the end of each word. His eyes looked Claude up and down, stopping briefly on the low “V” of his neckline before snapping upward. Geeze, all these middle-aged bastards. What the hell was so wrong with Claude’s shirt? Hilda wore a low neckline all the time, and no one complained near half as much.

Claude saluted him sarcastically. “And we are working as fast as possible to lead them into battle,” he said.

Seteth sneered. “Are you?” he challenged.

“We’ll only be a minute or two more, Seteth,” Byleth assured him, eyes crinkling.

Seteth’s expression softened when he looked at her, and Claude confirmed to himself that Seteth’s animosity towards him was the closest Claude would ever get to knowing how Jeralt would have behaved were he still around to disapprove of the budding romance.

He was not a fan.

Seteth bowed deeply to Byleth. “We await your lead.” He stalked off stiffly as he had approached, only appearing less like a wooden board when he mounted his wyvern and flew into the air.

“Is he really joining us in battle?”

“Yep.”

“Is it safe to let old men fight with us?”

“Be nice.”

“Why? He’s not nice to me, and I highly doubt he’s actually useful with that stupid axe.”

Byleth’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Have you ever sparred with Seteth before?” she asked. Claude was wary of the playfulness in her tone.

“No,” he replied.

“I’m going to set up a match between the two of you when we’re between battles,” Byleth said. She mounted her horse fluidly, braided hair blowing gently as she did so. “I think the two of you will find a newfound respect for each other afterwards.” She laughed, but the sound was short-lived. “I’m nervous about this next battle,” she confessed. “I know you want to have faith in the Faergus resistance’s hatred for Edelgard, but based on our last encounter with them, I don’t think we can guarantee that they won’t attack us even if we try to avoid them.” She sighed. “And that’s not even taking into consideration the fact that we might very well be facing Edelgard months sooner than we expected. . .”

“Do you forget who I am?” Claude teased. “You are right that our next battle is an entirely different matter than our last little skirmish with the Empire. They will come at us with everything they’ve got. Even so, the ultimate victory will be ours.”

Byleth smiled and shook her head. “You’re such an optimist.”

“Teach, I have made _ample_ preparations to ensure our victory.”

“Oh, ‘ample’. That’s a big word for you.”

“Hush,” Claude laughed. “At least pretend that you have some faith in your power and my schemes.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Byleth teased. “Hyah!” Her horse trotted forward at her urging. Luckily, Claude would not take long to catch up. He climbed onto Haver’s back, and the winged beast flew upward without command.

It was only in the air that he allowed himself to grit his teeth. He did not want to add to Byleth’s nerves, but the truth was, he had them, too, made none the better as he had no one to distract him from where they were heading. Armies did not move as quickly as a small group of students, like the last time Claude had made the same journey.

But it was still only a day and a half’s ride to Gronder Field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE!!!! I hope you have all been well!! I know that I said I’d only be gone for three-ish weeks and uuhhhh it’s been a little longer than that. So let me give you the Good, the Bad, and the Surprise to fill you in:  
The Good: my wedding was wonderful, I’m so happy to be married to my best friend, and I’m looking forward to our ongoing future together 💕  
The Bad: I lost the condo I was supposed to buy, because the seller decided four days before closing that he could make more money selling to someone else 😒 luckily between my parents and my in laws, we aren’t homeless, but house hunting is ongoing and frankly exhausting  
The Surprise: some of you might remember me mentioning towards the beginning of the pandemic that I was having issues with anxiety?? Well uhhhh apparently it wasn’t anxiety attacks like I thought, it was early symptoms of pregnancy. 😅 I managed to skip my WHOLE first trimester and part of my second. BUT!!!! The baby is healthy, which is a relief. She kicks and wiggles and I am very excited to hold her in my arms this December 💜  
But with all that being said, I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off, and I grow more and more tired daily. One day I will re-merge (hehe) with the young woman who could release a new chapter of Turn Back the Hands weekly, no sweat. Until then... I ask for your understanding. I’m stretched pretty thin, but this fic has NOT dropped off my radar. It’s still one of my loves, and I deeply miss being able to talk with my lovely readers as often as I used to 💕 I think of you guys daily and look forward to the next time I’m able to sit down and crank out some new content!!


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